


Just Between Us

by ranithepirate



Category: SHINee
Genre: AU, Angst, M/M, Romance, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-23
Updated: 2013-01-06
Packaged: 2018-03-23 06:20:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3757702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ranithepirate/pseuds/ranithepirate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nipped in the bud baseball rookie Choi Minho feels the ground fall from under him for the second time in his life—whether this is good or bad, he can’t discern—when a student’s awkward and alluring father captures his heart. Things heat up pretty fast between them, considering Minho never knew he could like men too… well, maybe only Jinki.</p><p> </p><p><b>Title:</b> "Just Between Us"<br/><b>Pairing:</b> OnHo, side!JongKey<br/><b>Rating:</b> R / NC-17<br/><b>Genre:</b> Romance, Angst, AU, Slice of Life</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Choi Minho

_The roar of the thunderous crowd filled Minho's ears, drowning out the sound of his thoughts as he exchanged hand signals with the catcher. He stood tall and proud on the mound, a sacred place exclusive to the pitcher—it was the ground they depended on, the ground they prayed on, the ground they worshiped._

_Minho tensed his muscles, lifting one leg as he took a long, deep breath; time stood still when he did, and he shut all his senses to the world. When he reopened his eyes, his target was the only thing he could see._

_Winding up his arm once, twice, a third time, he lurched forward, muscles lucid, hands releasing the ball with a smooth snap of the wrist. The second the ball was out of his hands, it had a mind of its own._

_Minho watched his curveball make its way towards the batter, speed clocking at a jaw dropping 90 miles per hour—the poor batter shook hard from apprehension, hands moving wildly as he desperately tried to hit the ball and falling over in the process._

_By nothing short of a lucky hit, the ball made contact with the bat, a deafening crack echoing throughout the stadium. Minho watched with wide eyes as the ball shot directly at him, his reflexes not moving fast enough to make sense of the situation; the ball made direct contact to his right wrist with a sick, bloodcurdling sound—_

Minho jolted awake at the exact moment the excruciating pain would have struck, sitting up drenched in sweat as he gasped for air. He rolled out of bed, wrist aching as if he had been hurt just weeks ago and not years. Squeezing his eyes shut, he sat down on the cold floor, hugging himself and pulling his knees to his chest. His dream had been so vivid, recounting a time in his life where his perfect life fell apart.

Prior to his injury, a twenty-year-old Minho dreamed of becoming a pro player. His amazing rookie talent dumbfounded professionals, and his beaming face plastered the covers of the tabloids and newspapers, pictures demonstrating his talent dominating the pages of sports magazines.

Recruiters from all over the world came to watch him play ball, his entire future set out for him… then he sustained extensive injury to his wrist, an injury so bad that it could not be healed with time. Tragic as his tale was, Minho was finished. To the people, he was no longer shining, no longer dazzling.

Stories of his downfall packed newspapers and magazine racks, but the world is unkind; within weeks, new optimistic faces featured in the magazines, Minho long gone and forgotten.

His parents said nothing about the incident, once upon a time so against his dream that he ran away. Now they comforted him, helping him rebuild his life and sending him back to school.

Nearly eight years later, Minho dreamed of this dark moment once maybe every few months, but still it stung like a fresh wound. His clipped wings ached and pained but he could do nothing about it.

Wide-awake and trembling, Minho lifted himself off the ground and into the bathroom. He stared at his reflection for what seemed like only moments, but was actually over an hour. Minho washed up, knowing that in less than two hours he had to be at work.

Clean-shaven and smelling of fresh cologne, he adjusted his black tie and white collared button down. Grabbing his briefcase, he opened the door to his apartment and climbed the steps down to his car. He drove a good hour to his job, the public school looming overhead as he neared it.

He practiced a smile in the mirror after he parked, still suffering the aftershocks and tremors from his nightmare. He gave up after a few minutes and settled for a neutral expression as he entered the school and faced smiling students and other teachers that loitered about the hallways before classes officially began.

Minho headed to the staff office, settling himself at his desk, comforted by the sounds of clicking keyboards and rustling papers that filled the room. He shut his eyes to enjoy the simplicity of the moment, taking slow, even breaths as he attempted to forget last night's nightmare.

He felt someone hovering behind him and opened his eyes, turning slightly in his chair to see it who it could it be. It was a student from his homeroom: Lee Taemin, a tenth grader.

"Yes, Taemin?" Minho asked, looking up at Taemin with an even expression. Without a second thought, Taemin handed his teacher a manila folder thick with paper.

"Here you go Mr. Choi."

Careful not to spill its contents, Minho cracked open the folder and scanned over the front page. He stopped dead when he read the words  _withdrawal_ and  _from school_  in the same sentence.

"What is this?" he asked, looking up at the student and trying not to sound as shocked as he felt, although his wide eyes betrayed his feelings. Taemin was his best pupil—and a hardworking and dedicated one at that. Recently his grades had been slipping and he skipped school a couple times, but this was serious in an altogether different manner.

"I'm dropping out." Taemin responds simply, voice betraying nothing.

Minho stares at him longer. Sighing he turns away from the student. "No, you're not." Minho tells him, promptly dropping the folder into the empty trashcan next to his desk.

Taemin bit his lip in defiance but held back at first, listening silently as the papers hit the bottom of the trashcan with a dull  _thud_. “But I have to.” he whispered.

Minho studied his expression carefully, warily eyeing the student’s watery eyes and quivering lips. Sighing with resignation, he found himself asking, “Okay, why?”

Taemin said nothing for a few moments, and Minho could physically see that the student was contemplating coming clean or not.

Shutting his eyes and pressing his lips together for just a second, Taemin looked his teacher in the eye and truthfully revealed, “I finally found a part-time job that pays a lot. They offered to pay me even more if I went full time.”

At first Minho said nothing, allowing the thought of his best student dropping out of school to work roll around in his mind. He has so much potential—Minho could not merely  _observe_  as Taemin dropped out. “Do your parents know about this decision?” he decided to ask.

Again, Minho’s words met with silence. “No,” Taemin finally whispered, his voice shaky as he looked down at the floor.

“Then,” Minho began, “you have to talk to them fi—”

Taemin glanced up suddenly, cutting his teacher off. “How can I tell him?” Taemin all but hollered, voice cracking as he fought back tears. “He works so hard every day trying to run the shop and pay for his apartment and my apartment, and then he even pays for all the bills  _and_  my school fees…. My father hasn’t just collapsed once from exhaustion—it’s happened  _three_  times already. I just can’t watch him like this anymore. I have to do something about it. How can I turn a blind eye and attend school when  _my father is suffering so much_?”

The student’s voice broke off at the end when he realized he was revealing too much; Minho could see that Taemin was on the verge of breaking down and sobbing, one tear already escaping and rolling down his cheek. Taemin wiped it with a quick swipe of his hand, throat constricting as he tried to calm himself and breathe evenly.

Neither spoke for a few minutes, the teachers’ office silent as the other staff strained to listen to their conversation. Finally, Minho opened his mouth to speak.

“Taemin-ah,” he said to the student in a calm, sympathetic voice. More tears rolled down the student’s cheeks at the sound of his teacher’s soothing tone. He took hold of Taemin’s arm, gently squeezing as he continued to talk. “Do you think your father is working so hard just to watch you drop out of school?” Minho asked, and Taemin looked like someone had jabbed him in the side.

The student shook his head. “No…” he replied inaudibly.

“Then why exactly do think he works so hard so you don’t have to?” Minho asked again. The question hung in the air unanswered, but the teacher could see the comprehension in Taemin’s eyes.

“Your father works so hard because he doesn’t want you to suffer.” Minho reasoned. “He wants you to finish school, go to college, and then make something of yourself. Do you think if you drop out now for whatever job you have, you will work at that same place forever—that they will pay for your living costs as time passes and you get older?”

Taemin stayed speechless as he listened to the older man’s pragmatic thoughts, tears streaming down his cheeks.

“You can’t just make such a permanent decision for such a temporary relief. And how can you even fathom paying your father back if you’re jobless and penniless and out of school?” Minho asked, finally hitting home. Taemin sobbed loudly, his arm slipping from Minho’s grasp when he covered his face with his palms.

“I’ll work harder Mr. Choi.” Taemin whispered through his hands. Minho nodded in agreement, looking up at the student with a caring face, glad to have been able to talk sense into him.

Just as the student turned to leave, Minho called out, “You do realize I have to talk to your parents about this incident?”

Taemin’s hands dropped from his face as he turned around, his expression displaying his dismay. His face still wet with tears, Taemin rushed back to his teacher and bowed suddenly at his feet, his forehead making contact with the ground.

Minho got up in astonishment, reaching down to pull up the student. “What are you—”

“Please, don’t tell him about my job!” Taemin begged loudly, eyes clenching shut as he yelled. This time curious eyes turned to watch the two of them. “My father would be so crestfallen and hurt. I know he will!”

Speechless, Minho looked down at the kid. The student got up to his knees and made eye contact with his teacher. “Please,” he pleaded again, “ _please_.”

Slowly, Minho nodded. “I don’t promise anything, but I won’t reveal it unless I absolutely have to.” he assured, not knowing what else to do but comply with the younger man’s request.

Taemin flashed him a million kilowatt smile, the relief on his face indescribable as got up, thanked his teacher several times, and left the office.

The silence in the room was deafening. Minho glanced around him, and all the teachers started to move noisily again.

Collapsing on the chair, Minho rubbed his face. It was only six in the morning but already he felt like he had been awake for three days straight.

~~

Minho contacted Taemin’s father, Lee Jinki, later that morning. Jinki’s voice seemed normal on the phone, not the exhausted mess his student described. At the mention of Taemin’s name, Jinki sounded concerned, but Minho reassured him that everything had been resolved and he just needed to relay the information to the student’s guardians. However, because of Jinki’s schedule, they decided to meet at a bar near his shop to talk about Taemin.

Taking a seat at a booth near the window, Minho pulled out some examination papers and began to grade, a small coke bubbling next to him as his red pen marked down the page.

From the corner of his eye, Minho noticed some movement across the street, turning his head to see a man lift some hefty pots in front a flower shop. Despite how heavy the clay objects looked, the man carried them into the store effortlessly.

Minho watched the man do this several times, enthralled by the stranger’s lean figure and pretty face. He had never seen a man so beautiful, despite the fact that he was nearly too far away for Minho to properly see his face. He felt compelled to abandon his seat in the booth and help the man, but came back to reality when he remembers that Taemin’s father could be here any minute.

Now distracted by the person working at the flower shop, Minho sipped his coke as he gazed at the man rush back and forth through the foliage in the store. His expression was too far to see, but Minho found himself chuckling as he counted the man trip for the fifth time in the past ten minutes. So preoccupied by his newfound interest, Minho did not even realize that the student’s father was over fifteen minutes late.

Finally, the pretty man shut the lights of the store, swiftly locking the door behind him. Minho felt his heart sink when he realized that the man would soon be gone, but was astonished when he started making his way towards the same bar.

Feeling a surge of fretfulness and excitement, Minho looked away so not to seem like he was staring too obviously. He felt a draft of cold air from the chilly night pass through him when the door opened, the pretty man entering the bar and glancing around with an anxious expression.

The closer the man got to Minho, the more Minho’s heart throbbed because of how beautiful he was. Suddenly their eyes made contact, making Minho’s stomach drop.

“Mr. Choi?” the pretty man asked tentatively, his voice just as lovely as Minho had imagined. Minho’s eyes widened at the sound of his name, realizing with an ecstatic yet sinking heart that this man was Lee Jinki, Lee Taemin’s father.

**~~**

An awful feeling of guilt weighed down on Minho like a ton of bricks.

Here was the young father Lee Jinki, presently at the verge of tears upon hearing that his only son attempted to drop out of school, and all Minho could think about was the unbearably desirable way the older man’s plump, pink lips pressed together in sorrow.

It took Minho a while to register that because of Jinki, the both of them had already downed five shots of soju.

While it was blatantly obvious that Jinki could handle his alcohol well, Minho knew that he could not; three or four shots usually knocked him straight out, and Minho was surprised how well he was holding up, considering. He was just thankful that tomorrow was Saturday and he would not have to teach the following morning hungover.

Even while drunk, Minho kept his promise and to Taemin, mentioning not a word about the student’s current part-time job—the amount of despair on Jinki’s face from hearing  _just_  about the attempt was enough cause for concern. Minho was not sure how he would handle Jinki’s anguish upon finding out about his son’s job.

However, Minho was too intoxicated to think too hard about Jinki’s current state of self-evaluation, wholly preoccupied by the way that elder man’s glistening eyes squinted and perfect jaws clenched as he swallowed back tears.

There was no denying that Jinki’s looks were exceptionally stunning. He had wavy light brown hair with bangs that ended at his long eyelashes; hidden underneath them were affectionate, chocolate-colored irises and charming almond shaped eyes. Jinki had a cute nose, glowing skin, and cheeks that were rosy from the alcohol.

“I’m sorry for burdening you with my pity-party,” Jinki said, his voice exhausted with emotion as he poured Minho another shot with one hand.

Minho licked his lips, an action Jinki actually noticed, and suddenly the smaller man felt like the temperature had risen at the bar.

Minho’s throat went dry when he caught the elder’s gaze on his mouth, and he took the shot that Jinki offered him. Was this the seventh one? Or eighth? Minho could no longer recall.

There was a buzz in Minho’s ears and a warm throbbing feeling in his lower body when Jinki stripped off his jacket, flashing his shoulder and the waistline of his pants, the white skin of his toned stomach sending another jolt through Minho.

Minho had never lusted after someone so much so fast—Jinki had a sexy physical appearance and a charming personality, but even still the amount of attraction the taller man felt towards him was bizarre—and Minho’s drunken alter ego no longer cared much about them being the same gender.

Feeling similarly as hot as Jinki, Minho stripped off his coat, loosening his tie and unbuttoning just the top of his shirt. This he had done on purpose, just to see what would happen.

His action met with an immediate response, Minho’s expression turning slightly smug as Jinki’s eyes trailed down Minho’s neck and to his exposed collarbone. Pleased that he was not the only one silently lusting after the other man, Minho leaned forward, knees brushing lightly with Jinki’s.

The purposeful contact full of intent sent an electric shock up the elder’s spine, and Jinki jumped. His chocolate eyes made contact with dark ones, and Jinki saw the temptation playing behind Minho’s blown pupils.

Jinki had been feeling like shit all day, and he thought that surely,  _some_  sexual release would be good for him? Now that he was thoughtfully considering the teacher, the florist could visibly see that Minho was lusting after him.

 _… On the other hand, he could just be too smashed to care whom he slept with,_  Jinki thought regretfully to himself.

In that case, sex was out of the question.

With a tired sigh, Jinki decided that the younger man was drunk and out of his mind. He did not look at all like the gay type, unlike Jinki, who had always known what he was. Obviously, the soju was not a good idea—Jinki had consistently been a great drinker, and though it took a lot of alcohol to intoxicate him, the drink did have an effect his judgment. He would only feel sheepish later if he took advantage of the attractive teacher.

Moreover, Jinki disliked casual sex, despite being guilty every now and then.

“Let me take you home, Mr. Choi,” Jinki said in a paternal approach. He was, at thirty-two, older than Minho by four years, so he should take the responsibility. In addition, this man was his son’s teacher—sleeping with the faculty of the school his son attended was not a good idea. It was something he would never be able to live down if Taemin ever found out.

Minho looked ready to protest, but had a resigned look on his face when he realized that Jinki was not going to respond to his advances.

The younger man stumbled to his feet, a little too close to Jinki. The elder gulped audibly when he realized that the teacher was a little over three inches taller than he was, forcing Jinki to look up into the taller man’s dark stare.

If Minho was attractive at first, he was even more alluring now. Drunk but still confident in his looks and the way he carried himself, the well-muscled younger man draped his arm around the florist’s slighter shoulders; Jinki was still recovering from the loss of nerve from seeing the teacher so close, and did not object the position.

High from the enthralling smell of the Minho’s cologne, Jinki could start to feel his restrictions slip. He understood taking advantage of the teacher’s present condition was immoral and against his principles, but how could he possibly refuse when the other party seemed so… enthusiastic?


	2. Lee Jinki

Not coherent enough to recall how exactly it began, Minho slammed Jinki against the wall of his apartment. Jinki gasped at the impact, yet complied all too easily as he returned Minho’s fevered kisses. Their bodies pressed together as the teacher’s lips crushed urgently on the elder man’s mouth, their tongues meshing in a frantic, wet kiss.

Jinki’s hands traveled up Minho’s shirt, skimming against the teacher’s muscular back, desperately trying to make as much contact with other’s skin as possible. His hasty fingers seared Minho’s skin and he groaned, grinding his throbbing tent against Jinki’s. The rhythm of Minho’s rocking hips on his gave Jinki waves of pleasure, a wanton moan escaping his swollen lips.

Nothing was fast enough for the teacher, even as Minho stripped Jinki down and roughly pushed him onto his coffee table. Papers and pencils scattered everywhere at impact, the taller man climbing on top of the florist.

Then suddenly, Minho was at a loss. He had no idea what do next—he had never done something like this with another male—but he was still desperately lusting after the older man, who lay under him panting and trembling with every fiery contact.

A knowing flash in his eyes, Jinki decided to take control and pushed Minho up and off the table, the two standing together in the middle of the living room looking into each other’s eyes. With one hand, the smaller man shoved Minho backwards onto the couch, a naughty grin spreading across Jinki’s face as he straddled onto the younger man’s lap.

Minho watched, eyes wide with desire as Jinki placed his fingers into his mouth, wetting them until they dripped with saliva; the teacher’s erection trickled with precum when the smaller man started to touch himself, stretching the puckered opening in his bottom and releasing moans and whimpers as he thrust into his body.

Ready, Jinki firmly took hold of Minho’s swollen and wet member, pressing it against his lubed entrance. “Let me show you how it’s done,” Jinki breathed into Minho’s ear, sending shocks down his spine that only further hardened his engorged cock. The florist went down hard with a sharp cry, ramming Minho into him with full power.

The teacher, overwhelmed by the tightness around his penis, groaned with satisfaction, thrusting his hips up and deeper into the florist. Jinki whimpered and whined shamelessly, losing control only when Minho’s throbbing member hit the right spot and made him release a lewd cry.

Not wanting to lose the friction, Minho flipped over on top of Jinki, spreading the smaller man’s soft thighs further apart, feeling himself go deeper inside Jinki. The elder man squealed with delight, intense pleasure rousing every nerve in his body.

Minho’s deep grunts as he slammed roughly into the smaller man mixed in with Jinki’s wanton cries that called out the teacher’s name, their voices disappearing together into the darkness of the apartment as the two men melted into one.

~~

The sunlight poured in from the window of the living room, waking Jinki up with a start. He opened his eyes to find himself seated upright against Minho, their skin sticking together as the florist pealed himself off the younger man.

Flushed with embarrassment—and glad that the teacher was too hungover to wake—Jinki realized that the teacher had failed to pull out, meaning that the two of them were knocked out after they came for god knows how many time the last night. Lifting himself tenderly, he winced with every movement, his sore ass stinging painfully.

Jinki found he could barely walk straight, legs faltering, and felt humiliated as he ignored the feeling of Minho’s semen dribbling down his inner thighs.

This is what he got for going against his morals and sleeping with Taemin’s teacher like some sort of slut. He felt like such a whore for having sex with a straight man who would most likely regret what happened a thousand times more than Jinki did.

Still, he glanced back at Minho, feeling an intense sexual attraction to the lean and muscular teacher who lay naked and passed out on the couch. He quickly made use of Minho’s shower, washing off any signs of intercourse from the previous night.

Dripping water on the floor, Jinki searched the entire living room for his clothes, embarrassed to find his underwear on the ceiling fan. For someone who did not get drunk so easy, the florist was sure out of his mind last night.

He thoughtfully covered Minho's naked form with a blanket from the teacher’s bedroom before he left, knowing that there was no way would he stick around to face the mortification of his wild behavior. Jinki was usually so professional and conserved, never one to act on pure emotion… but something about the way Minho looked into his eyes changed everything, and it frightened Jinki.

Pulling his coat around him tightly, he hobbled all the way to the bus stop in the cold air. Jinki climbed into the bus he was waiting for when it arrived, throwing himself onto a seat and realizing with a humiliated wince that he was too tender to sit. He endured the pain of the ride home, squirming and wiggling around uncomfortably until he was used to it.

When Jinki arrived at the flower shop, he was surprised to see Taemin lying on the bench next to the register and reading a book. Swelling with a paternal happiness, Jinki beamed at his son.

“Taeminnie!” he called out gleefully, the door shutting behind him with the distinct sound of ringing bells. Taemin looked up, a smile blooming on his face at the sight of his father. He got up to give his dad a big hug.

“Dad, where were you? I came early this morning to help you open shop, but you weren’t home.” Taemin said, studying his father curiously. He always helped his dad out at the store on the weekends during the early morning hours.

Jinki attempted to hide the flush creeping up from the back of his neck as he recalled the naughty activities of last night, turning around to adjust some primrose flowers to his right.

“I was at Sooyeon’s place.” Jinki lied, feeling guilty. Sooyeon was Taemin’s mom’s older sister. “I overslept since no one wakes up this early on the weekend.”

“Ah, Jessica-noona’s house? Was Key there?” Taemin questioned, asking about Sooyeon’s only son, Kibum, who was in university.

Jinki’s face heated up farther when he replied, rather unsurely, “Kibummie was still sleeping, I think. Not sure.”

Satisfied with the answer, Taemin grinned at the customer who just walked in, greeting her warmly. He then told his father that he would look after the store while Jinki changed into fresh clothes.

Jinki watched sadly as his son, now a responsible young man, assisted the customer. Jinki felt adolescent and inadequate as a father at that moment, realizing how much of his childhood his son was missing all because of his burdensome dad. With a tired sigh, Jinki headed upstairs to the apartment, mind drifting into a sudden reflux of memories.

Jinki was just sixteen when his girlfriend told him she was pregnant. She looked so happy, like this was the only thing she could have wanted in the world. Unfortunately, her young and meager body could not handle the strains of labor, and the doctors were only able to save the baby.

Upon laying eyes on the infant, Jinki’s parents knew immediately that the child was not his to begin with. This, sadly, was true—he refused to sleep with his girlfriend because by then he had realized that he was gay, but it was mainly due to her ill intention of becoming pregnant. So desperate was her sick need to have a child that she cheated a few times to get the desired result.

Who the real father was, Jinki was sure even his girlfriend would not have known. Still, there was this spark between Jinki and the baby that he had never felt before—the compassionate teenager had looked down at the small infant in his arms for the first time… and fallen in love.

There was not a person in the world who could have told him that Taemin was not his child.

Jinki’s parents made him complete some blood tests in a hopeless last attempt to convince themselves that Jinki had fathered the infant, and after the results came out negative, they told him to leave the baby’s care to an orphanage; his girlfriend’s parents were deceased and her grandparents were too aged to take care of a small child.

However, it had already been a year since Taemin’s birth, and the attached new father no longer had the strength to leave the child, no matter the consequences. He did only what any devoted yet reckless young father would have done—he took all the money he had and left home.

Because he left his small countryside town, Jinki had to abandon school as well. He moved to Seoul in hopes of finding a job. Jinki stayed with his girlfriend’s married older sister Sooyeon, who knew her sister would cause a mess like this one day. Touched by the amount of love he had for her nephew, she offered him a place to stay and took care of Taemin while Jinki worked all over the city to save up money, even though she was already taking care of her ten-year-old son, Kibum.

Two years passed and Jinki bought his own apartment at the top of a flower shop. The old woman who once owned it dreamed of traveling, and soon after hiring Jinki she retired and sold it for a cheap price to her only employee.

In the beginning, life had become easier for the single father and his son—Jinki came to love flowers and the shop and became an excellent florist—but as Taemin got older and expenses rose, the effects started to show. Taemin got into a well-known high school that was two hours away, and Jinki bought him an apartment that was a fifteen-minute walk from school to enable safer transport.

Only two years since Taemin started attending high school, the miserable situation had finally hit rock bottom; just last night Jinki was sitting across from his son’s teacher, drinking soju late at night after finding out that things had gotten so out of control lately, that Taemin had noticed and attempted to drop his education… just like Jinki had done.

A terrible decision, something Jinki and Minho had agreed on straight away.

Jinki held back tears from remembering the hopelessness that had overwhelmed him after hearing about Taemin last night. Secretly, he was thankful to Minho for making him so foolish and out of control—it kept Jinki from stressing out about his small family’s poor situation.

The florist quickly changed into fresh clothes and tied on his work apron, heading back downstairs. After a few hours of work, Taemin left for tutoring, and it was not long after when Kimbum showed his face for his evening shift.

“Good morning hyung!” the energetic twenty-five-year-old called into the store, a big grin on his face.

Jinki beamed, pulling the younger man into a tight hug. “Good morning,” he replied, several times more calm compared to the younger man’s elevated voice.

Immediately Kibum set to work, but today he had a story to share. He started to talk about his cute music professor; with detail, Kibum shared stories about teasing the young professor by informally calling the older man by his first name.

Jinki laughed wholeheartedly as he listened, but he could not help remembering the night before. No matter what he did, the flaming gaze that made him lose his inhibitions the night before would not leave him alone. Half of him wondered, _What would have happened if I had stayed?_

Kibum detected the preoccupied look on Jinki’s face, immediately demanding an explanation no matter how much Jinki protested. Eventually the elder man gave in, spilling out the truth like a waterfall; he hoped that perhaps Kibum would know what to do.

~~

That morning, Minho woke with a throbbing headache. His first reaction was alarm when he found himself sprawled out nude on the couch, just a blanket covering his body. Then his face burned up when he recalled Jinki and… what had happened.

The guilty feeling he had at the bar returned ten-fold. “Jeez,  _what the hell is wrong with me_?” Minho groaned aloud, falling back into the couch to cover his face in frustration. Not only had Minho forced the elder man to sleep with him when  _clearly_  the florist was still depressed after hearing about his son, the teacher had crossed a boundary set by law; he slept with his  _student’s_   _parent_.

However, the thing Minho regretted the most was not that their relationship was officially illegal; the crisis was that he turned the captivating man he had met last night into a one-night stand—the fact that Jinki felt the need to leave in the morning was enough proof of that.

As he showered and got ready for the day, Minho could not stop thinking about the florist. He remembered watching Jinki work at his flower shop, the way the elder man tucked his hair behind his ear when anxiously introducing himself, how his lips pressed together when he held back tears and how soft they were against his own, the way he came last night… all of it filled Minho’s head until no other thought could persist.

Then it hit Minho like lightening—he could not just let it end this way. He could not.

The teacher was frightened how easily he went from being stick straight to wholly gay for Jinki, but the way his heart was pounding transcended all doubts in his mind. He had only spent one night with the florist, and already Minho’s entire being throbbed with every thought of Jinki that passed through his mind.

There was only one method to understand his true feelings, and that was by seeing Jinki again—but Minho feared one thing: what if Jinki did not feel the same intense attraction that seemed to control Minho? What if… Minho was just feeling all this by himself?

He spent most of the day pacing around in his apartment, unsure of his next move. Then he did what any confused man would have done—he called his best friend.

~~

Jonghyun found Minho at the bar, and with a curious expression, he watched how intently the younger man stared out the window to look at the flower shop across the street. Jonghyun followed his gaze and was more than a little surprised to see a man arranging a set of flowers in one of the pots outside of the store, and not some pretty girl.

 “So what’s the story?” Jonghyun asked, relaxing across from Minho in the booth.

The teacher did not as much as glance at his friend when he said, “We had a one-night stand, but I think I might like him… a lot.”

The elder man nearly fell off his seat. “You…  _WHAT_?” he asked incredulously, a forced laugh escaping his mouth. He hoped it was not true—for the many years the two of them had known each other, Jonghyun was in an unrequited love with his best friend for most of those years. He had tried so desperately hard to make Minho at least  _consider_  him as a prospective love interest, but the man was just  _not gay_.

Yet here Minho was, declaring in front of Jonghyun that not only did he potentially  _like_  the florist across the street, but that he had  _also_  slept with him last night.

Thunderstruck and irritated, Jonghyun could only get out the words, “But you… told me… that you…”

Minho turned to face the elder man, looking him straight in the eye. “I know what I told you, but this shit still went down, and now I don’t know what to do. I just…” There was a desperate look in his eyes that made Jonghyun’s heart waver. “… I just want him to be  _mine_.”

Jonghyun and Minho had gone to school together, and despite their two year age difference, they were best friends. When Jonghyun entered college by himself, he realized his sexuality along with his feelings for Minho.

He loved watching Minho play baseball; the look on the younger man’s face when he was full of concentration was unlike any other. Minho was never as happy doing anything else other than standing on his mound and pitching balls, breaking speed records left and right as batters cowered before him. Then the accident happened, and Minho entered the same college as Jonghyun. At that time, Minho was most vulnerable, and so he studied to be a teacher along with Jonghyun to aid him.

The elder man became a young college professor while Minho took the path of a high school teacher. It was right after graduation that Jonghyun confessed his secret love, but Minho flatly turned him down. None of Jonghyun’s many advances worked, and, completely disheartened, he realized how fruitless his love for the younger man was. Jonghyun decides to stay by Minho's side as a close friend, finding comfort in assuring himself that he could not do a thing about Minho's sexuality.

But then  _this_  happens.

That look on Minho’s face, an expression that seemed to  _desire_  something for the first time in nearly ten years was gnawing at Jonghyun’s insulted anger.

Giving in with an aching pain in his heart, the elder man asked, “Well, is the florist gay?”

Minho gave it some thought, blushed when he recalled the experience Jinki displayed last night, and nodded.

Jonghyun did not miss a beat; an envious feeling filled him as he swallowed back the bile in his throat. The elder man was angry with himself for not getting as completely over Minho as he would have liked. However, the good friend in him endured the torment.

“Then just tell him. Being gay does not make the romance much different. He looks effeminate anyway. I don’t know why you need to ask me what to do.” Jonghyun bitterly advised.

Then Minho gave him a look that explained everything. They were best friends, after all.

For moral support, Jonghyun followed the teacher outside the bar, crossing the street and nearing the flower shop. The elder man watched the florist from the window, acknowledging the other man’s charming smile and attractive face.

Jonghyun entered the shop behind Minho, wistfully watching his unrequited love ask the florist for a moment of his time. Jinki turned apple red at the sight of Minho, nodding before following the younger man outside.

Staying behind in the shop, Jonghyun heard a familiar voice come from somewhere in the store. “Hyung, do you know where the smaller clay pots are?”

When no reply came, Kibum popped out from behind a row of flowers, face-to-face with Jonghyun. A surprised but happy grin spread on the younger man’s face, making Jonghyun’s stomach flip-flop.

“Kibum-ah, you work here?” the professor asked, startled.

“Professor Kim! I was just talking about you!”


	3. Don't Say No

Jinki could not believe his eyes when Minho walked into the shop that evening. His heart tried to burst out of his chest for every second the younger man was near him.

This was exactly what Kibum had said to him: if Minho came back, then that was a sure sign he was interested. However, this was too soon. Unable to think of any words to say, Jinki could only nod when Minho asked to talk to him outside.

It is not as if Jinki did not want it; he was not about to deny the strong attraction he felt towards the younger man. Regrettably, there was the slight problem of Minho being previously straight. Had there not been that one concern, the elder man would have not been as hesitant.

Jinki listened carefully as Minho tried to explain why he wanted to see the florist again, but nothing he had to say was convincing enough for the other man to believe Minho’s feelings were anything more than indefinite curiosity.

“I know we started off all wrong and out of order, but I would like a chance to properly… date you,” the teacher finally got out after much effort, a detail Jinki did not fail to notice. The florist’s hopeful heart soared, but he caught himself immediately. He had been down this road before, remembering too many unanswered phone calls, disgusted looks, blinding hurt, and a crushed heart.

“Look,” Jinki began, “I really like you a lot too. Honestly, I was so unusually impulsive last night that I even surprised myself. I realize that you may be attracted to me now, but if you want to be with me, you have to be in it for the long term. I have a son in high school. I hope you understand that I cannot waste my time being in a casual relationship with someone who may or may not be gay.”

Jinki’s straightforward reply rendered Minho speechless, but Jinki knew he had to say it, no matter how embarrassed he was. His cheeks and neck filled with a deep blush when he spilled his next declaration. “I-I am not young anymore and… and it’s not like I’m a top either. I’m not sure if you understand my situation, but as a gay it’s harder to find someone who is willing to hold an older man. I’m not exactly…  _cute_  enough to get by anymore.”

Minho was about to protest; Jinki’s face was flushed red, but the way he continued to look Minho in the eye was terribly attractive. Everything and anything Jinki seemed to say or do—simply just the way he held himself—was endearing.

The younger man had a hard time processing that the florist would have any trouble finding someone willing to dominate him; Minho was already on the verge of jumping him.

However, the reality sunk in.

After a good look at Jinki, Minho recalled that the elder man  _was_  in fact, thirty-two. He owned a run of the mill flower shop at best and, in all honesty, had nothing to offer when it came to finances. With a kid in tow—one that was in high school, no less—his chances even with women were slim.

The florist’s damp eyes and trembling lips tore Minho’s heart apart. They stared at each other for what seemed like forever, and Minho could visibly see the mortification brimming in Jinki’s pretty, brown eyes. In an almost choked, yet dignified, voice, the young father said:

“I’m sorry, but I… I don’t think I can be with you.”

~~

Minho went home that night feeling disheartened and lousy. He had been so expectant, but at the same time so completely blinded by his own indiscretion. The more he thought about it, the more it made sense that Jinki would be careful when it came to relationships.

Moreover, what did Minho even  _know_  about Jinki to begin with? With what justification did he have to be  _so_   _damn confident_?

“Sorry,” Jonghyun had said when Minho relayed the news, “although, I can sympathize.”

 “So you’re a bottom too?” Minho inquired, legitimately curious.

“ _No!_ ” Jonghyun all but hollered, flushing a bright crimson. Calming, he continued. “Still, I can comprehend the appeal of a young partner. That florist has a good point. Being with you would only make the clock turn faster, especially if you’re not sincere.”

Accordingly was the core of Minho’s problem: he did not know if this growing ache in his heart was from being serious about Jinki or just empathy for him.

That same week the teacher found himself making countless blunders during work, from calling students by their wrong names, forgetting to pick up homework, to even zoning out during one of his own lectures.

Minho was well out of it and people were beginning to notice, so it was not surprising that Taemin approached him on Friday right before classes began.

“Mr. Choi,” the student asked, appearing by Minho’s side as he walked towards campus, the elder man sipping a much-needed cup of coffee.

The teacher took no notice to Taemin; he was far too busy replaying the upset look on Jinki’s face Saturday, a memory that never escaped his thoughts.

It did not take Minho long after witnessing that to realize that he could love Jinki with all his heart… but suddenly, he had no confidence. The younger man no longer felt adequate, as if he would just become something Jinki would come to regret with time.

Just thinking about it crushed him, and Minho urgently tried to gulp down as much of the burning, pungent caffeine he could take in one go.

“Did something happen between you and my dad?” Taemin inquired rather unceremoniously, his expression even and straightforward, as if this was totally okay question to ask.

It was  _not_.

Screeching to a halt, Minho choked on the coffee; after spitting it all out, he sputtered and blushed as he denied every allegation the student threw his way.

Nonetheless, his denials were not substantiating at all—rather, Taemin got exactly the answer he was alluding to. With a raised eyebrow, he demanded in a slighted tone, “What, are you embarrassed by my dad or something?”

Minho shook his head violently, frantically trying to clean up the misunderstanding. “No, that’s not what I meant at all—your dad was brilliant in every way, the best I’ve ever been with. I just—” Grasping his unintentional confession a tad too late, Minho stopped talking instantaneously, dismay pooling in the pit of his stomach.

It was too late; Taemin was already smirking calculatingly, and Minho could not believe he was just bested by a fifteen-year-old.

Looking his teacher in the eye the student said, “My dad is incredible in a lot of ways, but you wouldn’t know unless you get to know him. He can be a little bit of a scaredy-cat now and then, but being unable to say no a second time is his weakness.”

With that, Taemin turned on his heels and climbed up the steps of the school, leaving Minho gaping in his wake to process this new and suddenly acquired information.

“Oh, I almost forgot!” the student said, turning around at the last moment. “My dad called me on the phone this morning and accidentally said your name. Just thought you should know.”

~~

Minho supposed he should be grateful that Taemin approved of him—that had to mean something to Jinki, the teacher was sure of it—and he was more than elated to know that he was on the florist’s mind. Still, what was the point if Jinki himself refused his advances before Minho actually had a chance to show him the earnestness of his heart?

This weird yet wonderful Friday had become one of those days where Minho found himself loitering about the baseball diamond late afterschool. He stood again on the mound in all his elevated splendor, muscles a little stiff from being out of practice, lights glaring down on him brilliantly as he faced an unseen challenger, utterly alone in a field of imaginary players.

He did this to think. Playing baseball was the only time Minho felt like he was himself, that his mind was so vividly comprehensible, and he could distinguish exactly what he sought after.

Minho pulled himself into position, his body recollecting an old ritual that began with the familiar raise of the leg, winding of the arms, the step forward…

It was at that moment Minho’s breath caught in his throat, and he watched as Jinki rushed towards home plate, stumbling over his own feet as he set a heavy clay pot on the base. Sighing with relief, the hallucination straightened his work apron, promptly wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his gloved hand. He turned to the teacher as if he had just noticed him, a dazzling smile blooming on his face and nearly knocking the living wits out of Minho.

Jinki was gone just as suddenly as he appeared, and Minho was more or less panicking on the inside as the memory of when he first laid eyes on Jinki flittered away into the intense lights.

Because of his momentary bewilderment, he snapped his right arm forward rather carelessly, and the pain that shot up his limb when his wrist bent at a familiar angle drove him to his knees with a loud groan, mind completely lucid in his torment as he gripped his wrist.

The intense lights and the vacant stadium that remained dead silent despite his grunt seemed to mock him mercilessly.

As much as he took pleasure in those few moments he forgot his injury, there was nothing quite like the ruthless blow of reality that got him every time.

“Minho, are you okay?” a familiar voice cried out, and when Minho looked up this time he was sure it was the real thing.

Jinki stood before him— _minus the apron of course_ , a thought that made him laugh inwardly—a fretful look on his face.  _Much better than the expression on Saturday_ , Minho thought despite himself.

He did not fail to notice the way heart sped up at the mere sight of the elder man, the way Jinki’s sweet smell encased him, the way Jinki’s hands were like electric against his skin as he tenderly took hold of Minho’s arm, examining his sore wrist carefully.

“Why are you here, Jinki?” Minho found himself asking curiously; he was surprised he did not wreck his words, what with his heart trying to rip out of his ribcage and all.

The smaller man blushed charmingly, trying to postpone the inevitable answer by not looking up from Minho’s wrist. Finally, he said, “Taeminnie said he needed me for a parent-teacher conference. In all honesty, I was not surprised to see that he was nowhere to be found.”

Jinki suddenly fumbled for his phone, pulling out the small device from his pocket. He showed Minho a text sent by his son.

 _Mr. Choi is at the baseball field_  it read.

Quite the set up, one that made Minho and Jinki laugh a little—despite his mature personality, Taemin was still a child with the way he garishly attempted to dupe his father.

“How long were you watching me?” Minho asked soberly, eyes connecting with Jinki’s.

The florist’s heart throbbed ever so loudly at the contact, and he found himself helplessly trapped in those dark black eyes. Unconsciously Jinki wondered if Minho knew the effect he had on him.

“Since before you stepped onto the mound,” he admitted softly. “I didn’t know you still played.”

“That was a long time ago,” Minho amended with a pensive sigh. Then he paused, somewhat surprised. “What do you mean by  _still_?”

The delightful color in Jinki’s cheeks deepened. “I… I, uh, used to be a fan. It had been a while so I didn’t recognize you right away, but I, umm, I sort of accidentally maybe Googled your name. Mistakenly, of course. In my spare time. I-I wasn’t trying to find out anything, or whatever it is that you’re thinking.” Jinki babbled, awkward and clumsy with his words; the same way he was when he moved physically.

It was not unattractive in the least, not to the younger man, as he watched the florist simmer in his own self-humiliation. Minho, unable to resist his cravings any longer, did what anyone would have done at that moment.

He cupped Jinki’s delicate cheek in his hand and kissed the elder man’s supple pink lips with fervor, forgetting all about the pain in his wrist.

The florist melted against his lips, happy to oblige, keening melodiously as Minho’s tongue enticed him to open up. Jinki parted his lips ever so slowly, and Minho’s fervent tongue slipped in to deepen the kiss, his wet appendage carefully exploring every crevice in the florist’s mouth.

Jinki moaned softly, and when he pulled away to breathe, face flushed and panting loudly, Minho could not help but dive in for another. His hands tangled into the silk strands of Jinki’s hair to urge the florist’s plush mouth as close to his as physically possible, the elder man clutching tightly to the front of Minho’s shirt with white knuckles and trembling hands.

“M-Minho,” Jinki whimpered with a mouth full of tongue, head spinning as he tried to amass his cluttered thoughts into coherent words. All he knew that the longer their mouths stayed together, the harder it would be for Jinki to think rationally. “ _please_ …”

Realizing what he was doing, Minho pulled away hastily, although reluctance oozed from every pore. With his thumb, he sheepishly wiped at Jinki’s wet, glistening lips, now beginning to swell after Minho’s zealous attack. However, both could not deny that the tingling sensation they felt in their mouths left a warm feeling pooling in their lower stomachs.

The teacher did not try to resist the smile that grew on his face as he looked down at the florist, his hands still gently cradling the elder man’s face.

“Jinki,” he began, still a little breathless as the two men made eye contact. “I know that you’re reluctant, but… I would like you to give me a chance. I… I really want to be with you. More than you could ever know. I honestly don’t know how else to explain to you.”

The way Jinki looked back into his eyes, intense and reflective, caused Minho’s blood pressure to accelerate critically so. He had not a clue what he would do if Jinki refused him a second time.

More than a few moments passed, and the throbbing in Minho’s wrist returned. He ignored the feeling, although he liked to pretend that the uncomfortable clenching in his throat was due to the twinge in his wrist and not his heart.

Finally the older man spoke, the quirk in the corner of his mouth betraying his smile.

“… You will have to really make an effort. I’ll have you know that I am really hard to please—”

Minho’s lips wasted no time finding their way back to Jinki’s, and the glee the younger man felt when this cheerful feeling enveloped him was comparable to no other. The two men closed the distance between their bodies as they held each other in a snug embrace.

“I won’t disappoint you,” Minho whispered against the smaller man’s mouth, and the latter of the two hummed contentedly back.

“You better not.”

~~

When Minho showed up at his doorstep the next day, Jonghyun did not fail to notice the absurdly large grin that adorned Minho’s face. Compared to the miserable expression Minho had the entire week before, the older man was more than a little thankful to ask, “I’m guessing it all worked out, didn’t it?”

Minho did not have to say anything to give Jonghyun an answer. He simply glanced over from the couch and over the kitchen counter at his old friend and the college professor was disgusted to uncover that Minho’s smile could get stupider and toothier than it already was.

“You are so whipped and you  _just_  met the guy.” Jonghyun declared exasperatedly, lifting the kettle filled with boiling water to make tea.

“It’s already been a week!” the younger man protested as if it was a credible argument, although he continued smiling, remembering earlier that morning when he woke to find Jinki sleeping peacefully in his arms. The feeling of waking up with florist next to him rather than alone and confused after their impassioned night was inexplicable.

Jinki had been worried about sleeping with Minho while the other was sober, and regretted accepting to date the younger man so hastily in the spur of the moment. The florist explained rather apprehensively —with a deeply flushed face, because just talking about sex with Minho made Jinki turn scarlet—in the car last night that not being intoxicated could change Minho’s whole mind about sleeping with another male.

No matter what, a challenge was a challenge, even if Minho gladly decided to prove Jinki wrong. To make a point, Minho performed well in the backseat of his car.

And on his couch.

And a few more times in bed.

If Jinki had any doubts about the teacher getting it up for a man, his tender backside and inability to stand were explanation enough.

Minho smirked at the thought, chuckling rather grossly in Jonghyun’s opinion.

“God, Minho, I did  _not_  know you were such a pervert,” the elder man said, appalled further when Minho shrugged nonchalantly, not even denying the assertion. He was not about to contradict the truth—Jinki did things to him no other person ever had.

“There’s just something about him.” the younger man replied, his smile growing increasingly affectionate while he remembered Jinki’s blushing face as Minho drove him to his flower shop, then proceeding to help him walk to the store because Jinki could not even walk.

The priceless smile on Taemin’s face when he saw the two of them enter the store together and a few stolen kisses he shared with Jinki here and there really made Minho’s day.

Jonghyun feigned a smile and busied himself in the kitchen, so not to betray how hurt he was by Minho’s admission than he actually was.

 _God, that dumb shit can be so inconsiderate sometimes_ , Jonghyun thought resentfully.

Nevertheless, Jonghyun foolishly encouraged Minho to go see Jinki again. He forlornly held two hot cups in his hands as the only man he had ever loved opened the door and left his apartment.

It was at that moment another head popped in from the open door.

“Am I interrupting something?” Kibum asked, sly eyes shining. It was not hard to convince Minho to let him in, and feeling pleased at his accomplishment, he barged into the young professor’s apartment rather boldly.

Jonghyun did not even have the strength to answer his question, let alone shoo his student out the door, so instead he handed Kibum the extra tea meant for Minho and collapsed onto the couch.

The feline man wrinkled his nose when he took a sip of the burning liquid. “Ugh. No sugar,” he spat disapprovingly. However, with one glance at his professor, Kibum immediately knew something was distracting the elder man—the same way he knew something was up with Jinki.

And if there was one thing Kibum hated more than not knowing what is going on, it was when the person he liked was not paying attention to him; the only reason why the younger man teased Jonghyun whenever he was near.

Setting down the tea, Kibum moved from his comfortable position on the couch to straddle his shocked professor’s lap. Jonghyun’s jaw dropped rather idiotically, mouth completely dry and lost for words as he stared up at his student.

“I’m tired of being subtle,” the catlike man whispered, voice inviting as he pulled the hot cup out of the elder man’s hands, just before his perfect lips brushed enticingly against Jonghyun’s. “Let’s get this show on the road.”


	4. Kim Jonghyun

_This is so wrong._

The guilt cut through Jonghyun’s consciousness like a knife. He groaned as white flashed under his eyelids when Kibum bucked his hips and grinded skillfully against the throbbing bulge in the professor’s pants.

_He’s my student. I should not be doing this._

Kibum mewled with pleasure as Jonghyun’s thick fingers scissored his entrance; the elder man cursed when the student’s perfectly filed nails scraped down his bare back and made him shiver with desire. Who knew he had a kink for scratches?

_I’m still not over Minho. No one would ever be okay being the rebound guy._

However, Kibum did not seem to notice Jonghyun’s feeble reluctance in the least, hissing dirty words into the professor’s ears as he begged to be penetrated.

Within moments, the professor thrust himself inside, a line of curse words streaming out of his mouth as the pleasure overtook his better judgment. He could not think, only feel the pulsating heat inside of Kibum, the way the younger man rolled his hips against his, the way he squealed with pleasure between heavy panting and husky voice whispering the words “fuck me  _harder_ , Jonghyun!”

Harder he did, losing all inhibitions and pounding into the student when Kibum’s nails dug deeper into his skin, the younger man’s voice nothing but whines and moans that echoed through the empty apartment.

Only one thought managed to breech professor’s awareness—or lack thereof—as he roughly drove into the writhing man under him.

 _God, Kibum is noisy during sex_.

Jonghyun was pretty sure he liked it.

~~

In the shower, Kibum scolded himself for the hundredth time that morning.

He had vowed to himself repeatedly that this time he would not try to seduce the man he liked, that instead he would charm him with his personality. However, his personality  _was_  the problem; although he could be amusing, clever, and extraordinary, at the same time he could be shameless, selfish, and very cocky.

There was just something  _different_  about his professor that Kibum could not shake. It was the way the elder man smiled, revealing his lower teeth; his comical expressions that went with every action; his skinship-loving nature; his ability to laugh at everything.

Kibum’s neck heated up just thinking about it, and he crouched on the floor of the shower, grinning wildly at his toes as water dripped down his naked body. Of course, he was happy to sleep with his professor. The glee gushed out of him like a waterfall, unable to be contained.

The fact that Jonghyun held him meant that he was interested in Kibum… right? Even if it was just a little bit, the younger man could deal with that.

_I could change that._

With that determined thought, Kibum giggled unabashedly. He stepped out of the shower, drying himself with the nearest towel—he felt weird using another person’s things, so he did it quickly.

Kibum sauntered out of the bathroom nude, and upon finding the wrinkled state of his clothes on the floor next to the couch, he clicked his tongue with displeasure. There was no way in hell he would wear his clothes like that.

He crept into the room he had shared with Jonghyun, biting his lip when he saw the shorter man lying on the bed. Kibum held his breath—who knew that behind those baggy, collared polos and sagging pants was the expertly hidden body of a Korean Adonis?

Attempting to steady his breath, the student shook his head of all naughty thoughts that crossed his mind, instead making a beeline for the professor’s closet. He wrinkled his nose in disapproval upon laying eyes at the sad sight. Jonghyun’s clothes were miserable.

Kibum suddenly remembered the distress he felt when he first wondered how he even started liking a person that dressed like a hobo. Clearly, his job paid enough—one glance at his luxurious apartment left no room for doubt—so Kibum wondered why he had such a pathetic fashion sense.

Shaking his head again, Kibum filtered through the ugly shirts, his interest peaked when he spotted some nice ones hidden all the way in the right side of the closet. His jaw dropped as his mind attempted to register that they were all brand name: Versace, Polo, Armani, Burberry, Prada, Bugatti, Barbour, D&G…  _everything_.

Mouth watering, Kibum’s eyes glazed open as he fingered the cloth.  _They’re just rotting in Professor Kim's closet like forgotten trash!_  Scandalized, Kibum shot a look at the sleeping man on the bed; instead of fury, a shiver of longing traveled down his spine.

Letting go of the clothes, the student slinked over to the bed and seated himself next to Jonghyun, eyes raking down the elder man’s body and admiring the definition of his muscles. He wanted so bad to see the lust burning in his professor’s eyes again, the way he groped his soft flesh, calloused hands stroking him to climax….

The student tore his eyes away, getting up abruptly. As much as he wanted Jonghyun’s body, Kibum wanted to steal his heart first. Quickly picking out a random old white cotton button down from the closet, Kibum escaped from the room and his desire.

~~

Jonghyun awoke alone in his bed, eyes blinking open abruptly. The sunlight burned his tired eyes, but he was most definitely awake.

He hoped with all his heart that yesterday was nothing but a dream and had not actually happened. Nonetheless, there were sounds coming from the kitchen that was discouraging enough.

The professor rolled out of bed—heat flooded his cheeks when he saw the misshapen state of his sheets—and crept towards the door. He opened it a bit, just enough to see the kitchen from his vantage point.

His mouth went dry at the sight of Kibum standing almost naked in the kitchen wearing one of Jonghyun’s shirts, which barely covered the student’s lower body and left absolutely nothing to the imagination—not that Jonghyun needed the imagination, as he had thoroughly caressed every inch of that pearly white skin last night.

Flushed, Jonghyun escaped back into his room and collapsed on the floor with disbelief. He could not do this. How could he let himself even think of his student this way, let alone sleep with him? Kibum was five years younger than Jonghyun—a young twenty-five to his thirty—and on top of that, after Kibum had fallen asleep, the professor spent a good part of the night thinking about Minho.

The shame tore at his insides.

Deciding to man up, Jonghyun was determined to tell Kibum the truth. That last night was a mistake, that he was not over Minho, that he hoped that the student would not get any wrong ideas from this interaction, and that something like this should never happen again.

He hoped he would understand.

However, when the student turned around at the sound of his professor’s voice, Jonghyun’s breath caught in his throat. Kibum’s pale cheeks were pink as his lips pulled back in a shy smile, feline eyes crinkling prettily when they met Jonghyun’s, and the happiness that emanated from the student’s entire being was like a dozen blows to the professor’s stomach.

His lips parted to form words, but with his throat constricting, Jonghyun found he could say nothing.

The guilt burned so bad it hurt.

~~

It was a cold Sunday morning, marking a little over two months since Minho and Jinki had started dating. The teacher was ridiculously happy whenever he was with the florist; every little thing Jinki did filled Minho with contentment.

The smaller man had spent last night at Minho’s apartment, and the two of them spoke about themselves in between making love, learning about likes, dislikes, similarities, and more.

The teacher was actually not that surprised to hear that Taemin was not Jinki’s biological son—a fact he learned two weeks into their relationship—because although the two of them shared many of the same personality traits and a profound father-and-son love, they looked nothing alike.

Jinki told Minho when they started dating that he worked all day Sunday through Thursday; in the mornings he would open the flower shop, close it late in the afternoon before taking up his shift at a nearby restaurant, and then he had a late-night shift at a bar till four in the morning.

On those days, Jinki barely got a few hours of sleep—and that was only when he did not have to close the bar. Saturday the florist opened his shop all day, and Taemin and his cousin Kibum came to help. Friday was the only day when Jinki got a few hours to himself, and even then, he just kept the shop open until the usual closing time if he had nothing to do.

Because of this, the new couple would spend their Friday and Saturday nights tangled together in their apartments, whispering and swapping stories. Although Minho would have liked to spend more time with Jinki out of bed—not that he was complaining about the sex, because god he loved being inside Jinki—, the elder man was busy making ends meet and the teacher was not going to force Jinki to leave his comfort zone.

The only problem Minho had was that Jinki was holding back. Minho was not stupid; he could tell. Jinki kept his troubles to himself, unwilling to burden anyone with things he believed concerned only him—his money, his family, his issues at work. Jinki still did not tell Minho how he ended up with Taemin, three different jobs, and living in a flower shop in Seoul. It upset Minho greatly, and they had fought about it a few times before.

“I’m a capable adult,” Jinki would say, voice guarded and hushed as he turned away. “I’m a man. I can solve these problems on my own—I do not need to be taken care of.”

“I’m not trying to take care of you,” Minho would reply, exasperated and anxious. “But I am your lover. I care about you. Allow me to be useful—that’s what I’m here for.”

Those nights were especially hard to get through, because even though they had fought, they pressed against each other in the dark, unable to separate knowing it would be another week before they saw each other again.

“Mr. Choi,” a familiar voice called from the other side of his front door. Minho nearly jumped off his couch, startled out of his sober thoughts.

A few beats later the voice said, “Mr. Choi, it’s me, Taemin.”

Curious, Minho got up to open the door, the student rushing into the warm apartment. His cheeks and nose were pink with cold, and he sneezed cutely. The teacher glanced tenderly at his student before closing the door.

A few moments passed as Minho reseated himself comfortably on his couch, signaling that the student do the same. “Hello, Mr. Choi,” Taemin greeted with a deep bow, and then proceeded to take seat next to his teacher.

Minho smiled—Taemin was always so respectful.

“Hello. What's up?” the teacher inquired, interested as to why the student had shown up at his door.

“Nothing really,” Taemin replied with a shrug, “I just finished at work and on the way home I wanted to ask you some things about my dad.”

Minho still said nothing to Jinki about Taemin’s job, and although he felt guilty, it was for the best. He wanted Taemin to quit—he tried convincing him often, and failed every time—but he knew that if he said anything to Jinki about the situation, the older man would just crumple.

“Taemin-ah, you know you’re not supposed to see your teacher unless it’s for school related reasons.” Minho reminded, but despite his warning tone, his soft smile was still there. “And you know my relationship with your father is frowned upon. We can’t let other’s catch on.”

“It’ll only take a second,” the student said coolly, and it was quite clear he was not planning to leave just yet. “I need to know something.”

It was a little unnerving to see Taemin’s laidback disposition, and Minho knew that it was at moments like this that Taemin would pull out a monster from his pocket—the first time, he had revealed he was dropping out, and the second, when he confronted the teacher’s relationship with his father.

Silence stretched between them as the teacher gathered his thoughts. Minho had a soft spot for the student, but as his boyfriend’s only son, he was intimidating.

“Okay then. What is it?” Minho inquired slowly, unsure what to expect as he prepared mentally for what was to come.

“Do you take my dad on dates?” Taemin asked.

The question was… surprisingly normal.

“Define ‘dates.’”

“Like, ‘let’s go sightseeing’ or ‘window-shopping at the mall’ kind of dates.”

Minho pressed his lips together, shaking his head. “Honestly, not like that.”

“Is it because you both are men?” the student demands, although his words were not rooted with anger, just a hint of concern.

Shaking his head again, Minho answers, “Your father says he doesn’t have time. We usually just spend time together at home after work.” Minho tried not to turn red with discomfort when he realized the connotation of his answer—Taemin was not a child, he must know that his father has sex, with his teacher no less. Moreover, if anything, Minho’s words meant that that was all they did—learning about each other inside and out, mentally and physically.

 _Oh god, this is too much_. Minho thought to himself, burying his burning face in his hands.

Taemin did not seem to mind though. Instead, he had gone silent with a pensive look on his face, one that perked Minho’s curiosity.

“My dad get’s stressed easily,” Taemin finally says, training his eyes on Minho’s. “And he’ll bottle things up until the last minute.”

The teacher was unsure what to do with this information. He wanted to know what happened at the last minute, the apprehension clawing at him like an animal.

They sat together in heavy silence, minutes ticking by as they stared at each other’s expressions.

The answer came in the form of call, Taemin’s phone ringing in his pocket.

“Hello?”

~~

Jinki was busy bussing tables when he suddenly felt too tired to move. He felt drained and sick to his stomach, and after catering to the needs of a table of six, Jinki let himself fall against the wall, breaths labored and weak.

The manager of the restaurant, Leeteuk, noticed and came over immediately. “You okay, Jinki?” he asked, alarm in his voice.

“I’m… okay hyung,” Jinki replied, straining himself to look up. He was sweating so much, his white shirt stuck to his skin, becoming translucent. “I just… feel like… like I’m going to throw up.”

Biting his lip, Leeteuk nodded, sending Jinki off to the bathroom. “I’m coming in a minute. Let me just find Donghae and tell him to take over table six, and I’ll be right there.”

Jinki cooperated, stumbling into the cool air of the bathroom. He felt better, although still sick, and one glance in the mirror revealed how pale his skin was, tinged green.

Suddenly, thoughts about Minho swirled around in his mind.

He felt guilty about avoiding the topic of his family and financial instability. Jinki knew that this was something he should talk to Minho about, and knew that the younger man genuinely cared and wanted to help him.

However, that made Jinki feel inadequate and dependant. Minho’s family was rich and successful, he had such a nice apartment, and his job paid well. How could he let his boyfriend take care of him? Jinki’s pride as a man would not allow it, so he decided to say nothing. He decided he was not going to tell Minho.

But it was eating at his insides. He hated that his jobs were not enough to pay for his home or Taemin’s tuition; he hated that he was too embarrassed to talk to someone about it; he hated that hurt look on Minho’s face that he put there when he refused to talk.

He hated that he was not making ends meet just as he promised his baby fifteen years ago, and especially hated how it was affecting Taemin.

Jinki’s eyes watered at the thought, a broken sob escaping his dry lips as he leaned over the sink, clutching the porcelain sides so tightly his knuckles turned white. He dry heaved once, feeling the burning acid in the back of his throat, head spinning.

He swallowed back the bile, unwilling to give in. He swallowed back his tears. He swallowed back his feelings. He could do it. He could hold on longer. He just needed to work harder.

Jinki forced himself to smile at the mirror, flinching at how fake it was.

There was a tugging in the back of his head, black tinting his vision, and suddenly Jinki could not breathe.

When Leeteuk came into the bathroom a few minutes later, he found Jinki unconscious on the floor.

The sound of an ambulance disturbed the busy restaurant, Leeteuk fumbling on the phone as he dialed Kibum’s number, yelling at him to call Taemin because Jinki had collapsed.

~~

Jonghyun showed up at the hospital, heart pounding loudly in his ears when he spotted Kibum pacing in the lobby.

His face fell.  _Who was I kidding? Of course Kibum would be here too—he knows Jinki personally_ , Jonghyun chided himself, silently at cursing his student. He was hoping Kibum would not show.

Jonghyun unsuccessfully avoided being alone with the student ever since the incident at his apartment. However, Kibum was unrelenting, from cornering the teacher after class, to randomly showing up in his apartment. Jonghyun kept changing the passkey to his place, but Kibum was smart—Jonghyun, no so much—and figured them out quickly.

One thing Jonghyun had managed was to make sure nothing happened between him and Kibum, deflecting every advance and seduction technique the younger man threw his way.

The only reason Jonghyun even came was due to Jinki, a person he had come to like more than he would ever admit, and Minho, whose distressed voice begged him over the phone to be there as he drove an equally panicked Taemin to the hospital.

“Kibum-ah!” he called, jogging up to the student.

Kibum pouty lips fell open, feline eyes wide with anxiety—it was not because of Jonghyun, and that worried the professor. “Took you long enough! They’re this way.” Kibum said immediately, turning on his heels to head into a hallway.

Jonghyun followed quickly after the younger man to the hospital room, fear pooling in his stomach when he saw a deathly pale Jinki lying on the bed, an IV drip attached to his wrist. He looked so fragile.

Seated next to Jinki’s bed was Minho, comforting a sniffling Taemin leaning on his shoulder. The boy’s eyes were swollen and puffy, nose red. Obviously, Taemin had been crying, but he looked calm now. Jonghyun could only assume things were not too bad.

“What happened?” he found himself asking, making eye contact with Minho. Minho signaled that they meet outside, and Jonghyun left the room, all the while feeling Kibum’s eyes boring into his back.

“He collapsed from exhaustion. He hasn’t been eating or sleeping well, and his body is overworked.” Minho revealed once they were in the hall. “But the doctor said that when he wakes up, we can take him home.”

The older man was about to say something when Minho fell back into the wall, his legs suddenly unable to support his weight as he slid down onto the floor.

“Hyung, what am I doing?” Minho asked, covering his face with his hands. The unexpected question surprised Jonghyun. “We’re supposed to be dating. How could I let something like this happen?”

Suddenly, Jonghyun understood. He crouched next to his old friend, resting a hand on his shoulder. “This was out of your control,” he amended, in an attempt to comfort.

Minho shook his head. “I should have pushed more. I should have—”

“Minho-hyung!” Kibum’s voice rang out into the hall. “He’s awake!”

Like lightening Minho was up and inside the room, Jonghyun following him inside. He regretted the decision though, sharp daggers digging into his heart as he watched Minho pepper the florist with kisses, uncaring if anyone saw. Taemin was holding Jinki’s hand, tears streaming down his face as relief overtook him.

They looked like family.

Jonghyun had never felt so insignificant in Minho’s life than at that moment, and although he was mortified and humiliated at himself for feeling like this, the pain he felt was so horribly unbearable that he forgot how to breathe—over a decade of built up, unrequited love shattered in a second.

Kibum was not blind. He noticed that look on his face, recognizing it because he looked at his professor the same exact way. Suddenly, everything fell into place, the pieces coming together in his mind.

Kibum loved Jonghyun, Jonghyun loved Minho, and Minho loved Jinki, who returned the feeling.

It was a dismal little love square, although only Kibum and Jonghyun’s love was pathetic.

When Kibum went home with Jonghyun that night, the student was not surprised when the professor forgot to fight his advances and kick him out. No protest escaped his mouth when Kibum’s warm, comforting lips pressed against his. None at all, as Kibum keened and writhed under him, Jonghyun’s mind blank as the pleasure took over his mind and body, and the heat that radiated from the student was all he could think of.

So numb was Jonghyun that he did not notice the tears streaming down the student’s face as they clung to each other all night long.


	5. Kibum vs. Minho

The silence in the car was almost painful, even though Minho and Jinki were always content just being near each other. Usually, there was a smile pulling on the teacher’s lips as he drove, sneaking sidelong glances at his lover and betraying the happiness that glowed tellingly in his eyes.

Now, the younger man kept a concentrated stare straight out of the windshield, eyes focused on the road darkened by the night. His expression revealed nothing and that made Jinki uncomfortable, knot wadding in his throat when he noted the proximity of their hands. Minho usually held Jinki’s hand, peppering it with sweet kisses that triggered butterflies in the elder’s stomach.

Now their hands just lay awkwardly next to each other.

Since tomorrow was Monday, the couple had just dropped off a sleepy Taemin at his apartment, now on a long two-hour drive back to Seoul. Never before had Jinki wanted time to pass by faster than at that moment. He knew that Minho had questions, and that he wanted answers to them.

So… why was he not asking them?

Jinki bit his lip nervously, feeling sicker than he had earlier that afternoon before an ambulance whisked him off to the hospital. Although, this sickness was a throbbing in his heart rather his entire body.

“Are… are you angry?” Jinki finally whispered, at the same time sneaking what seemed like the millionth glance at the taller man. After a few minutes, Jinki feared that the teacher had not heard him—the sound of the car zooming down the empty road created a constant roar in their ears, so it would not be surprising.

“Yes,” came Minho’s sudden reply, arctic, doused with irritation and some other emotion Jinki could not understand.

Jinki’s throat tightened painfully, in time with the agonizing throb in his chest. Tears threatened to fall from his eyes, the tension in the car so thick it was hard to breathe.

Back at the hospital, Minho had been nothing but compliant, all sweet words and teary-eyed smiles—nothing compared to frustration that now rippled off the taller man in powerful waves. Even in car on the way to drop off Taemin, Minho’s expression revealed nothing; but now it was like a domino effect, once Minho himself realized how he was feeling.

Jinki knew something like this would happen. He had always known, and although he tried to be optimistic about his relationship with Minho, the florist had this feeling of impending doom. With all the baggage the elder man was carrying—and apparently failing miserably at hiding—, Jinki was just waiting for the day Minho told him he had just about enough.

“Then… are you breaki—” Jinki’s voice choked on the words, which he swallowed, and a few tears escaped down his cheeks, “… are we… okay?”

Suddenly the car swerved dangerously, but the road was empty and Minho quickly gained control, pulling over to the side. Both of them remained frozen in their seats, blood pounding in their ears as they tried to regain their wits.

After what seemed like an eternity, Minho’s big eyes were wide as he turned his body to face Jinki, the brief fear of death now replaced with alarm.

“Why wouldn’t we be okay?” he asked, hand unconsciously reaching for Jinki’s, their fingers entwining together.

Jinki stared down at their hands, unable to meet the younger man’s eyes, instead focusing on how nice it felt to be touching Minho again, this small contact of their skin was soothing in ways he could not express. He loved the long, bony fingers, Minho’s baseball-calloused hand big around the florist’s slighter, stubbier digits.

At last, Jinki found his voice, wet chocolate eyes meeting Minho’s large black ones for the first time in hours. “You said you were… angry.”  _At me_ , Jinki added wordlessly.

However, Minho seemed to have grasped Jinki’s aching heart, or read the silent words like a billboard sign in those beautiful teary eyes, because he pulled the elder man into a firm embrace. “Not at you, never at you.”

Surprised, yet comforted all the same, Jinki inquired, “Then why…?”

“At myself,” came the reply; then Minho shook his head. “But that doesn’t matter. It never did—all that matters is that you are okay and here. With me.”

Jinki let himself relax in his lover’s long arms, heart both aching and melting at the same time. Minutes passed by, yet the younger man asked nothing about florist’s past, further confusing the elder man. Did Minho not want to know? He was constantly questioning him before, but now… nothing—not a single word.

When Minho’s arms tightened even more around the smaller man, all of a sudden, Jinki understood exactly why: Minho was not going to ask anymore. Instead, the teacher was waiting for when Jinki felt comfortable enough to share on his own.

The tears that had stopped began to fall again; since the beginning of their relationship, Jinki had always been on guard. He held back, in fear of the worst, and sold Minho short when the younger did nothing but give his all. Their relationship had been so sudden, so out of nowhere that, because of it, Jinki did not have faith that it could last. His pride told him not to invest too many feelings because the one who fell first was the one who ended up losing everything.

Was this not the lesson he had learned from all his broken relationships?

Yet here was Minho, holding Jinki so securely that he filled up all of the missing pieces of Jinki with himself.

Suddenly overtaken with feelings to scream, to yell, to shout, to sob loudly like child, just letting all his inhibitions go, Jinki settled with the last, weeping his heart out into Minho’s shoulder. He could not remember the last time he let himself cry like this, a blubbering mess as he told Minho how tired he was of his work, what a horrible father he was, how badly he missed his parents, and, even though he was almost too scared to tell him, how much he loved Minho.

Minho just listened, pulling the smaller man to straddle his lap and holding him closer than ever, kissing Jinki’s forehead, his eyes, his nose, his tear-stained cheeks, his lips, his chin, his neck, soft, sweet kisses anywhere and everywhere he could possibly reach. Even though he did not understand all the bits and pieces of Jinki’s confessions, he did not hold back his smile for the last one.

“I love you too,” he whispered back, after Jinki told him how scary Minho was for stealing his heart so quickly.

“But you’ve only known me for two months,” whimpered the elder man, shivering as the younger pressed a kiss at the base of his neck.

“You mean  _already_  known you for two months. To be honest, it took me less than a week.” Minho admitted, a smile playing on his perfect lips. Neck heating up with embarrassment, Jinki stopped crying, sniffling as he searched the taller man’s eyes, which were sincere and revealed his honestly.

Minho noticed the red flush on his lover’s cheeks and his smile broadened, causing Jinki’s eyes to flicker down to Minho’s plump mouth. Jinki removed his arms from around Minho’s neck and cradled the younger’s face in his hands, the florist coyly biting the teacher’s lower lip.

“That’s not possible,” Jinki mumbled a reply, breath hitching from his previous crying. Oddly, he was not embarrassed—he did not feel like any less of a man for baring his vulnerable heart to Minho, who looked at him without judgment, large, round eyes nothing but accepting and indulgent.

Pushing up harder against his lips, Minho kissed Jinki passionately, his large hands trailing down Jinki’s back and under his shirt as he tugged the waistband of the elder’s jeans and pulled him closer. Minho’s thumbs brushed against the sharp angles of Jinki’s hipbones, disappearing under the band to feel more of the soft skin, eliciting a soft gasp from the smaller man.

The kiss became more urgent and needy, the car filling with their heavy breathing, but when Jinki leaned too far back, he pressed against the steering wheel, the deafening honk startling them from their heated trance.

Self-conscious laughter escaped their parted lips, Jinki clambering back into his seat as Minho shifted the car to drive and eased back onto the empty road. They held hands the rest of the ride back, and when Minho stopped in front of the flower shop, he followed Jinki upstairs into his apartment and together the two of them curled into each other as Jinki told his story from the beginning.

~~

Jinki was given a week off from his jobs at the restaurant and bar, and, with much whining on Minho’s part, Jinki grudgingly decided not to open his flower shop for the two days Minho had taken leave from work.

Minho took Jinki to the mall, and the next day to the park, where they had a picnic—both proposed by Taemin, who was more ecstatic about this improvement in his father’s romantic relationship than Minho and Jinki combined.

Those two days were glorious, Minho making sure to keep Jinki hydrated and well fed on their dates out, and afterwards he properly loved the florist’s body through the night, leaving enough time for a healthy amount of satisfying sleep.

The following weekend Minho declared to Taemin and Jinki that his lease would be up in less than a month, and that he was moving in with Jinki on top of the flower shop. Jinki protested at first, but Taemin was so happy that Jinki could not refuse for long.

“We live close to each other anyway. Plus, more of your money can go towards Taemin’s education if I pay half the rent.” Minho later told a huffy Jinki, not too long after Taemin had gone to his room to start on his homework.  _And so I can be closer to you_ , Minho thought to himself, too shy to admit it aloud, but that goofy smile on his face as he watched his boyfriend fume adorably in front of the stove while he made tea revealed it all.

Ah, Minho was a goner and Jinki did not even know the beginning of it.

But when Jinki turned around to face the taller man, he caught the expression on Minho’s face, and maybe… just maybe, Jinki  _did_  know—if his blushing face was anything to go by.

The kiss they shared in the kitchen was soft and sweet.

Taemin, ever the creeper, happily smiled from the crack of his doorway. He was so delighted to see his father like this: so cheerful, content, and constantly smiling. Where had the defeated look gone? Where were those dark circles? Jinki had even put on some weight—he was completely embarrassed about that, but it was something Minho openly worshipped as he naughtily felt up those magnificent thighs whenever he had a chance.

Taemin hoped that his father and Minho stayed together for… well, for forever.

~~

On the night of when Jinki collapsed, when Jonghyun and Kibum slept together for the second time, the next morning Kibum did not hesitate to confront Jonghyun about the professor’s feelings for Minho.

Jonghyun admitted to them, apologizing repeatedly as Kibum dressed quickly. Jonghyun may not have recognized Kibum’s tears in the darkness of night, but he sure noticed the puffy, red eyes on the younger man’s pretty face in the daylight.

Kibum would have none of it though. “You may not have liked it, but I did, and it was perfect for me so stop fucking apologizing already!” the student all but yelled, lips curled back in a snarl. The reaction stunned Jonghyun into silence. Well, to be honest, he was confused whether Kibum’s words were a compliment, verbal assault, or maybe just a mixture both with a dash of something else—a confession, maybe?

Kibum flipped his hair in annoyance and Jonghyun tried not to notice how it was so irresistibly messy, and that he was responsible for making it that way. “You look like a lost dog.” Kibum insulted, then amended. “Go wash up. I made you breakfast. You have to be at work in an hour.”

After saying all of that, the feline man promptly left without a second glance back. Kibum left a whirlwind of emotions in his wake, and Jonghyun continued to stare stupidly after him.

~~

 _Gah, I’m such an idiot!_ Kibum yelled internally at himself as he climbed onto the bus.  _Why did I get mad at him? It’s not his fault that I like him._

It was not as if he knew about Kibum’s feelings, either—despite being a college professor, Jonghyun tended to be on the slow side—but after Kibum’s kind-of-sort-of-not-really-a-confession earlier, Jonghyun may have an inkling of an idea.

Kibum thinks about the professor’s lopsided smile, his star-studded eyes, the rippling muscles on his body, the laidback laughter that erupted from somewhere inside of him, and his phenomenal singing voice. However, it was the stupid, overjoyed grin on his face that made him look  _so fucking dumb_  when he listened to his students sing that, Kibum decides, truly made him fall for Jonghyun.

Having no classes that morning, Kibum decides to pay his uncle a visit to see how he is doing after his collapse, not surprised when he finds the flower shop closed. The feline man searches for the spare key in his bag and upon discovering it, enters and locks the door behind him before climbing up the steps to Jinki’s apartment.

From the steps, Kibum hears movement in the kitchen, which is surprising since Jinki should be sleeping. Kibum sighs, figuring that the elder man was probably going to try and open shop when he should be resting instead. Jinki just collapsed yesterday—even if he recovered enough to go home, you would think the older man knew better than that.

“Hyung, shouldn’t you be in bed?” the feline man asks when he reaches the kitchen.

Instead of Jinki, Kibum is shocked to find a tall, lean man in the kitchen. Turning around at the sound of Kibum’s voice, the student immediately recognizes Minho and stiffens.

Kibum was not so sure if he wanted to see him right now.

“Good morning Kibum,” Minho greets, a soft smile blessing his handsome features. Kibum has to admit, this tall menace was attractive as fuck.

“Minho-hyung! I guess I should have realized you were going to be here.” Kibum says, comprehending the truth of his words once he says them. Of course Minho would be here—it was his duty as Jinki’s boyfriend. Kibum would be more than a little infuriated if Minho did not at least take the day off to be with his uncle.

 _Well, I probably would be mad anyway_ , Kibum realizes bitterly, _Jonghyun loves him and not me. What’s so good about this tall freak anyway?_

“What brings you here?” Minho questions, making Kibum lose his train of thought. “I thought you were a student—don’t you have school?” The two make eye contact, and Minho suddenly does not need Kibum’s reply, his quizzical features turning into understanding. “Ah, right. Jinki.”

The familiarity in Minho’s voice when speaking about Jinki irks Kibum, but he pretends not to care. “I also don’t have classes in the morning today.” Kibum adds, feeling like he needs more justification for being here. He does not want the elder man thinking he skips school like some delinquent—he was classy too, just like the teacher.

Kibum tries to ignore the flames of jealousy licking his insides.

Minho hums in understanding, full attention back to cooking—a couple pancakes, it seems, and some eggs—and Kibum, realizing that Minho must be Jonghyun’s type, sizes up the elder man.

Kibum started with their heights. The student was tall, but Minho was taller. It did not matter, since Jonghyun was shorter than both of them, so plus one for Kibum.

The teacher was definitely a top—unless Jinki was hiding an aggressive monster behind that sweet face of his, a thought Kibum would rather not imagine—, but Kibum was not. This was a bit off, because if his sore ass proved anything, it was that Jonghyun was also a top. He supposed Minho and Jonghyun, had they been together, would switch often. Kibum was not sure if he liked that idea—he found bottoming much more pleasurable to be honest, but if it was for Jonghyun… he could make an exception. So… half of a point?

 _Anyway, moving on_ —Minho was lean, but well muscled. Kibum looks at his lacking arms and sighs internally. He was slender, slightly toned, but in the end had a feline body—nowhere near the defined muscles that Minho had. Minus one.

Kibum had a feminine and pretty face that complimented his body, with high cheekbones, white skin, slanted eyes, graceful nose, and strongly defined lips. His features were sharp and regal, often leaving others speechless, and Kibum was quite proud of that. On the other hand, Minho was handsome and manlier. Although he had high cheekbones too, his nose was wider, eyes were bigger and much rounder, with lips that were plump and full, sun kissed skin, and a default expression that claimed nothing but innocence—a huge contrast from Kibum. Another minus one.

The student sighed again, deciding to stop once he realized these points were going nowhere. So far, he had negative half of a point, and he was not sure if his pride could stand going through all their differences.

The student did not realize that Minho was watching him until he finally looked up when the older man coughed for attention.

“Are you alright?” Minho asked concernedly, crossing his arms as he leaned against the stove.

“Eh?” Kibum responded, speechless for once.

“You look… upset. You keep sighing. I counted five times.”

Blushing profusely, Kibum blurted, “You know Professor Kim likes you, right?” He inwardly cursed at himself, cringing when he heard the jealousy in his voice. Why did he have to say that, of all things?

“Jjong? Yeah, I know. I’ve always known.” Minho replies, not missing a beat. Again, Kibum hid his irritation at the familiarity in Minho’s voice.  _Jjong? What’s that, some sort of pet name?_  Kibum reflected, hating the bitterness in his thoughts. He has to call Jonghyun  _Professor_  until he graduated, which was upsetting.

However, what bothered him more was the ‘ _I’ve always known_ ’ part.

“How long exactly is ‘ _always known_ ’?” Kibum found himself asking, but he regretted it the second he said it. Honestly, he was not sure if he wanted to know what exactly he was up against.

Minho read him like an open book and said nothing at first, a silent understanding passing between them. “Look, I love Jinki—” Minho starts, but Kibum cuts him off.

“I know. That was… I’m being stupid. Sorry.” Kibum apologizes. “I am jealous, but I’ll deal.”

Minho chuckles, a deep rumble in his chest that makes even Kibum’s stomach flip. Wow, his voice was nice. “Take care of Jjong. He needs someone like you.” Minho says, and Kibum realizes with racing heart that Minho was cheering for him. “And good luck. He can be so dumb sometimes, so you’ll need it.”

Laughing, Kibum replies, “Yeah, I noticed.”

It was at that moment that Jinki walks into the kitchen, shirtless and yawning. He has on a pair of boxers, on backwards because of his morning haze. However, that is not all that catches Kibum’s eyes; it is the array of hickeys all over Jinki’s body, the way he walked in with an obvious limp, unable to stand straight, his red, swollen lips, and that satisfied look on his face.

“G'morning ‘Bummie, Minho.” Jinki mumbles cheerfully, stifling another yawn.

Trying not to laugh, Kibum shoots a look at Minho, who is apple red and has turned away from the student—not a good idea because Minho’s shirt is slipping slightly off his shoulder and Kibum can see the telltale red scratches that disappear under the shirt and down Minho’s back. “Good morning, hyung,” Kibum answers, completely amused.

It was obvious that Jinki was loved quite…  _thoroughly_.

When Jinki notices the food on the table, the sweetest smile spreads on his lips. He hugs Minho, planting a kiss on his lips. “Thanks for the breakfast.” He obviously was still not awake because Jinki is rarely this affectionate with an audience, and Kibum raises an eyebrow, to which Minho nearly crumples on the floor, he is so embarrassed.

“Don’t worry, I understand. You guys are adults.” Kibum laughs as he says this, quite enjoying the mortification on Minho’s face—it is fucking cute, and he loves every moment of torment he inflicts on the elder man. “You keep doing what you’re doing… and each other—especially each other. I’ll just come over again when you go back to work. Your actual work, and not… you know.” Kibum says with a wink and sly smirk.

Minho shoots a glare at Kibum, pointedly choosing to ignore the student’s innuendos despite how hard Minho was blushing. Jinki notices Kibum laughing, but shrugs it off when he starts eating.

“Leaving already?” Jinki asks around a mouthful of food. “But you just got here—you should join us.”

Kibum smiles at his uncle, glad to see him this easygoing and happy, actually eating properly for a change. The way Minho was looking at Jinki was proof enough that the taller was not competition when it came to Jonghyun.

“Nah, I’ll let you two lovebirds enjoy yourselves. Bye hyung.” Kibum says to Jinki, and then he glances at Minho. “Can I… talk to you again, just for a moment?”

Curious, the teacher nods, standing up and following Kibum to doorway that leads to the steps. The feline man turns on his heels and looks up at Minho.

“You better take care of my hyung or I’ll claw your eyes out.” Kibum warns, so unexpectedly that it shocks Minho. “And… I also wanted to thank you for making him so happy. It has been too many years since I’ve seen him like this. Plus, Taemin really likes you—you’re actually the only boyfriend Taemin has ever approved of. For their sake, I just… I hope you stick around.”

The smile Minho responds with is dazzling, and he pulls the younger man into a hug because… because he can.

“Thanks. I plan to be here for a long, long time.”


	6. Bad Food and Diplomas

“Kibum-ah…” Jonghyun’s puzzled voice drew out, betraying his surprise almost as much as the shocked expression painting his face. He honestly did not expect to see Kibum again—at least, not so soon after confessing to the younger man about his feelings for Minho. With the way Kibum avoided him for the past two weeks since the incident, Jonghyun assumed that that would ward off the student for a good month or two.

 _I guess not._  Jonghun thinks to himself, although not bitterly so. He does not dwell on why.

At the sound of his name, Kibum smiles brightly, pushing past Jonghyun like how he had done so many times before, as if he had never avoided his professor to begin with.

“Good morning, Professor Kim! I just thought we could go to school together,” Kibum explains his sudden appearance, throwing himself onto Jonghyun’s plush couch.

An awkward silence fills the room as the professor tries not to recall the first time the student had seduced him, and the way Jonghyun thrust into Kibum in that very spot.

The elder man shakes his head to cast away the dirty thoughts, but they kept surging back—Jonghyun had been so busy lately that Kibum was the only person he could remember sleeping with for the past few months. He decided that he needed to fix that or it could become a severe disadvantage.

It was not as if he hated Kibum or anything, but their relationship was developing into something more than simply student and teacher—and something a million times less than didactic—the more the younger man hung around him outside of class.

Jonghyun was not sure how he felt about that situation—his affiliation with Kibum was more illegal than Minho and Jinki’s, and after the two times they have slept together, well… the taboo situation became worse, and could result in him losing his job and quite possibly never finding work as a professor ever again.

Slight exasperation outlining his words, the elder man breaks the enveloping silence first. “Look I don’t know what you’re planning, but—”

“I’m not  _planning_  anything,” Kibum snaps abrasively as he cuts off his professor, voice defensive and somewhat hurt; he hid the pain well by rolling his eyes incredulously. “I’m not going to try to get in your pants again, okay?”

Jonghyun was fully prepared to reprimand his student for blatantly lying to him—after all, Kibum had swayed Jonghyun into crossing the line twice already—but his voice catches in his throat when their eyes connect.

“Please, just… just  _trust me_ ,” the student insisted, voice suddenly feeble as it settled to barely above a whisper. An exhausting silence took over the room.

There was this… frailty in Kibum’s obvious facade, a kind of resignation that emanated from somewhere inside him; it crashed into Jonghyun and threw him off kilter—he found that the look did not suit the feline man’s face one bit.

The professor’s heart wrenched painfully and for the life of him, he could not understand why. What the  _hell_  was going on?

“Okay,” Jonghyun finally responds after what feels like forever, releasing a breath he had not realized he was holding. “Okay.” he repeats, this time more certainly. He was not sure if he said this to reassure Kibum or to settle his own thoughts; in the end, it did not matter anyway—it did both jobs all the same.

“Give me a few minutes and we’ll go.”

~~

Kibum was alone in Jonghyun’s apartment later that evening, splayed out on his back on top of the couch as he held a magazine above his face. Kibum returned from his last class of the day a while ago, and now the student was waiting for his professor to come home—the elder man claimed that one of his coworkers needed assistance and would not keep him too long.

Still, the student did not expect Jonghyun to be back anytime soon, but what he did not anticipate was Minho bursting through the door at six, looking extremely irritated but mostly apprehensive and troubled.

“Honestly, I don’t know what he expects me do—” the older man begins ranting as the door swings open, but freezes at the sight of Kibum on the couch, Minho’s frog eyes widening in astonishment.

As surprised as he was at the sight of the teacher, more than anything Kibum wanted to scoff. This was the second time today someone had looked at him like that, the first being his professor. Surely, it could not be  _that_  surprising to see the student lounging around in his teacher’s apartment—after all, he did it all the time, and, for goodness’s sake, only avoided the man for two  _weeks_ , not two  _decades_!

“Who expects you to do what, hyung?” Kibum asks curtly, hiding his sourness and deciding to ignore the teacher’s blatant stare. He figured Minho must have been talking about Jinki, if the expression on his face before he barged in was anything to go by, but Kibum played dumb to humor the elder man.

Minho’s face flushed slightly, Kibum’s words breaking him out of his shock. “I-it’s nothing,” the teacher stuttered, lingering hesitantly by the door. Deciding to just go ahead and enter, he shuts the entrance behind him, collapsing in the free space next to Kibum’s feet.

He looks over to the student, large eyes connecting with feline ones. “I didn’t expect to see you here again, Key.”

Kibum flinched at the change of subject, shifting uncomfortably at the sound of his name. Minho had taken to calling Kibum by his nickname; it was one that Taemin had given him when he was a little boy and had trouble remembering his name. Kibum never realized how disarming the familiarity of the nickname could be until that moment.

The only reason the teacher had caught onto this name was because the past two weeks Kibum had been ‘avoiding’ Jonghyun, he worked at the flower shop.

That first week, the student actually needed to be there—Minho made sure Jinki relaxed and took proper advantage of his weeklong break, despite many protests from the elder man. Meanwhile, someone had to take care of the shop—and it certainly was not going to be Taemin, who was two hours away at school.

However, after the initial week, Kibum found it much easier to just not face his professor altogether, keeping up the façade of being too busy at work even after Jinki was officially back, who, to be honest, did not have enough customers to need much assistance at all.

In addition, whatever time Minho did not spend at work, he used up with Jinki at the shop. Seeing Kibum every day helped the two grow closer, and unfortunately, the more Kibum got to know Minho and how he was such a great and genuine person, the student grew more and more helpless.

Kibum could not help but compare himself to the elder man—after all, Jonghyun  _was_  in love with him for nearly a decade, whether the feeling was reciprocated during that time or not.

“It can’t be ‘nothing’ when your face looks like that.” Kibum retorts, desperately attempting to alter the subject again. Unsurprisingly, Minho does not fall for the bait.

The two exchange discouraged glances, realizing that neither was going to reveal their ailments, and opted to wordlessly lick each other’s wounds by doing absolutely nothing about them.

 _It helps_ , Kibum amends silently to himself as he continues flipping through the magazine again, relaxing the tense muscles in his neck; the student glances quickly at Minho, who turned on the TV to watch the sports channel.  _Just having someone else here helps_.

~~

Jonghyun drops by to see Minho at the flower shop, the bells above the door jingling as it opens. He wanted to see his friend’s smiling face before he went home, if only to remind himself that Minho was the one he liked, not the student waiting in his apartment. The small quirks that made up Kibum had engrossed the professor all day, tantalizing in their effortlessness.

Jonghyun shudders, remembering things he should not, and shakes himself into reality. He hated how he was thinking about Kibum in all the wrong ways. The professor reprimands himself.  _Kibum says he’ll stop trying, so why am I still thinking about him like this?_

Usually, laying eyes on the younger teacher kept Jonghyun’s self-control in check, although that was getting harder to do.

 _He’s my student—my_ student _! It’s illegal! Do you_ want _to get arrested?_  Jonghyun rationalizes, head reeling with how hard he was focusing on the words.

In fact, he was concentrating so hard that he nearly missed the soft sobs coming from the back of the shop.

Eyes narrowing anxiously, Jonghyun glanced around to pinpoint the noise. After moments of straining his ears, he realized that it was definitely the sound of someone crying.

“Hello?” he calls into the store, voice unsure as the door shuts behind him.

The sounds of shoes scraping and someone stumbling ricochet through the room. “C-coming!” an anxious voice, thick with tears, responds almost immediately to Jonghyun, entwining with the loud thud of the same person falling to the floor.

 _Jinki-hyung_. Jonghyun realizes instantaneously, worried as he walks around a high wall of flowers to reveal the clumsy man face-planted on the floor, scrambling to get up as the professor nears.

“Are you alright hyung?” the younger man inquires with concern, reaching down towards Jinki with both hands.

The florist gawks up with recognition, plump lips parting as his startled eyes focus on Jonghyun. After sitting up and gaining his wits, Jinki smiles sadly, face still wet with tears where he tried to wipe them away in his rush. Flushed with embarrassment, nose and forehead a deeper shade than the rest of his face—likely due to his fall—, the florist responds automatically with a quick, “I’m okay.”

It seemed to Jonghyun, with the way Jinki said it, the elder man was talking about his fall, not as much as his tears.

Carefully grasping Jonghyun’s outstretched hands, the florist lets the younger lift him up with a small grunt, and soon the two are standing face to face. Jinki opts to release the shorter man’s hands, but Jonghyun’s grip tightens instead.

“Hey, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?” the professor asks, one hand reaching to brush gently across the florist’s cheek. “Where is Minho? Fuck, why is that asshole letting you cry?” The younger man felt angrier the more he thought about the fact that Minho was not here— _Jinki was crying!_

The taller merely shrugs, sheepish as another tear escapes down his cheek; after knowing Jonghyun for a while, he became used to the professor’s excessive touching, although it still made the florist feel discomfited, and he shifted awkwardly where he stood.

“I wasn’t crying when he left. It just suddenly started and I couldn’t stop….” The elder man’s words drift into silence, and he looks away from Jonghyun’s probing eyes. “It’s dumb anyways.”

Jonghyun’s eyes narrow. “So you guys fought and he made you so upset that you cried? That little piece of shit—I’m calling him right now!” He lets go of Jinki’s other hand and reaches for his cell phone.

“Oh god, please don’t!” the florist begs, eyes widening as he shakes his head quickly, grabbing at the professor’s wrist to stop him. “We fought over something really stupid, I realize that now. I don’t even know why I’m crying. I’ll just die if Minho finds out—it’ll only trouble him for no reason.”

“But  _you’re_  upset!” Jonghyun counters, expression betraying his aggravation.

Even though he was jealous, he liked Jinki and Minho’s relationship, how they took care of each other and filled the places where they were empty. Most of all, he loved seeing that spark in Minho’s eyes again, something Jonghyun once believed was lost forever—it reminded him of the old days and made him smile.

With realizing, Jonghyun finally managed to grasp a concept about himself that he never fully understood before: that, as much as he loved Minho, he loved the Minho that was  _together_  with Jinki more. Perhaps that was why he was stuck in the middle of his feelings, flailing unsurely as he supported their relationship at the same felt the pain in his heart knowing that he had to let go of his best friend.

His epiphany went unbeknownst to Jinki, who kept spewing excuses not to call Minho. Finally, Jonghyun asked, “What exactly did you guys fight over anyway?”

Jinki blushed harder than before, and he looked away from the professor. “Earlier, I cooked something for the first time in a long time.” he stated, as if that was all he was going to say.

Jonghyun would have none of it. “ _And_ …?” he urged, unsure where this was going.

“He ate it…” Jinki continued, turning redder, if that was possible. “Oh god, it already sounds so stupid. I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” The florist turns around and escapes behind the counter before Jonghyun has a moment to react.

However, Jinki accidentally makes eye contact with the younger man, and the curious expression displayed on the professor’s face induces him to speak again, the words tumbling out in a mumbled rush as he hides his face in his hands.

“He said it was good but then I took a bite and it tasted like shit because I hadn’t cooked in a while and I got embarrassed and upset and told him not to lie to me and he said he would never lie and I pointed out that he just did and we got into an argument about lying and we started yelling so he left and then for some reason I started crying but now it just sounds so dumb and I just… don’t want to talk about it anymore, okay?”

Jonghyun could not hold back the laughter bubbling in the pit of his stomach, the loud guffaws escaping from his mouth. His mirth overpowered the pool of embarrassment that was Jinki, whose face was red as an apple, and every exposed part of his skin tinged with rose.

“Jjong, please don’t laugh so hard…” Jinki begged pitifully, crouching where he was standing and wishing he was dead. When he vocalized his potentially suicidal thoughts, Jonghyun howled even louder.

To Jinki, at the time of the fight, it had felt like everything was falling apart. It just hurt so badly, as if nothing was going right… but now, thinking back, it had to be one of the most idiotic fights the couple had ever had.

 _‘I’ll eat anything you make,’_  Minho had said to him, just before the dispute escalated.  _‘as long as you made it, I’ll be happy.’_

Minho was honest and truthful, sincere in every way, so why was Jinki too embarrassed to accept the flattering statement and make it out to be a malicious remark instead? Jinki could get a diploma on misunderstandings and being all-around dense when it came to his relationship with Minho—he felt that he deserved Jonghyun’s laughter, which was relentless even as the younger man left the store and headed over to his apartment, ignoring the dirty looks strangers were giving him.

It dawned on the professor then that Kibum was waiting for him, and an odd sense of excitement filled him. He wanted to tell Kibum about what had happened, already thinking about the way the feline eyes would turn into the most precious eye smile, how the student’s slender shoulders would shake as amusement racked through his body, his perfect lips pulling back into unadulterated laughter that would fill Jonghyun’s heart.

Therefore, when he opened the door, he did not expect that crushing sense of disappointment that hit him upon seeing someone else on the couch.

It was Minho—just him, no one else.

Once upon a time, the sight of the younger man would make the worst of Jonghyun’s days into perfect nights of having fun and drinking with his best friend; but the past two weeks without Kibum, Jonghyun admits, felt empty and boring. Minho visited every now and then, but even that could not fill up the space the student had made in his heart with his constant attempts to win Jonghyun’s affections.

When had that changed?  _What_  had changed?

 _Could it be_ , Jonghyun comprehends slowly,  _that_ I _finally did?_  He lets the thought roll around in his mind, making him smirk forlornly.

Ten years of unrequited loved, suddenly replaced by a feline smile that swayed his heart.

Now Kibum was gone from his grasp, just as suddenly as he came, all because Jonghyun was too blind to notice what was right in front of him.

He was never the type to sleep with just anyone, so why would that suddenly change now?

_Well, fuck._

“Jinki-hyung is crying.” Jonghyun suddenly declares, after standing at the doorway staring at Minho for nearly five full minutes.

Minho freezes where he sits, feeling his body turn cold. “What?” he finally asks, sitting straight from his laidback position on the couch—he was hoping he had misheard.

Jonghyun saw the moment in slow motion, having an out-of-body experience, as if what he was about to do would finalize the end of his one-sided love. “I went to go see you at the flower shop and found Jinki bawling his eyes out. Said something about wanting to die.”

“ _What_?” Minho repeated as he stood up, voice doused with worry.

 _Granted, he was just joking_ , Jonghyun amended silently. _But a small white lie won’t hurt anyone—_ anything, honestly, to get Minho and Jinki in the same room again.

“Did he say anything about me?” the younger man asked, almost begging. His heart was screaming at him to run, run to Jinki before the elder man decided to end their relationship over another stupid fight, but his feet rooted to the ground.

It had happened more than a few times already, where Jinki would suddenly panic and want to break up, and then Minho sometimes had to… err,  _convince_ —insert suggestive wink here—a flustered Jinki that their relationship was okay— _better_  than okay even, something Jinki never failed to endearingly add afterwards.

Jinki trusted Minho with a secret, that he had been in more than a few unhealthy relationships before the teacher, the previous—and the worst—over two years ago. It explained why he was always so hesitant to express himself, but Jinki was trying to open up and that was more than enough for Minho.

Jonghyun shrugged. “Nothing really, other than not to bother calling you,”

With that, Minho was gone, his jacket forgotten on the couch as he burst through the cold evening air. The flower shop was a ten-minute walk and a bus ride away from Jonghyun’s apartment, far too long, in Minho’s opinion, as he bounded onto the shop’s street.

He burst through the door, the bells jingling loudly over his head as he yelled into the silent shop, “Jinki!”

The startled elder man stood up from his position bent over some roses, puffy red eyes wide with shock when he sees his boyfriend bolting towards him.

Given no chance to speak before Minho’s arms are around him and lips crushed against his, Jinki lets the taller man back him up until his leaning against the counter with the cash register, Minho towering over him as he trailed kisses down Jinki’s jaw and neck.

“Don’t cry.” Minho declares suddenly, halting his sweet kisses and nuzzling his face into the crook of Jinki’s shoulder.

The florist chuckles softly, embarrassed. “I stopped a while ago, you idiot. Did Jonghyun send you?”

“He didn’t have to. I came running.” Minho grumbles, mad for leaving Jinki alone to begin with. Every second he stared at the sports channel at Jonghyun’s apartment was a waste of time because all he could see in the screen was Jinki’s angry face. More than anything, the teacher hated fighting with his boyfriend. “I’m sorry.”

Jinki shakes his head. “No, I am sorry. I got embarrassed and I vented my frustration on you.”

“I hate fighting,” Minho states simply, pressing a kiss against the florist’s lips.

The elder man deepens the kiss, lips parting invitingly as he hums his agreement.

“I mean, there are so many other things we could be doing...” Minho continues, and his tongue slips easily into the elder man’s mouth.

Jinki jolts when he feels the teacher’s wandering hands slide down from his lower back to his ass, blush creeping into his face. The taller man had been obsessed with that particular region for some time now, and as flattered as Jinki was, it was indecent, doing something like this out here.

He pushes away, albeit weakly, voice shaking as he says, “W-we can’t. The shop is open...”

There is no real resistance in Jinki’s voice; Minho appreciates this greatly as he drops his hands from the elder man, walking over to the door and flipping the open sign to close. He silently curses when he realized he left his keys and wallet at Jonghyun’s, Minho’s bony hands floundering around the lock as if they could close it with magic. He does not expect Jinki’s own hand to snake around him, pressing a key into the door and locking it, the satisfying click making them both smile.

“Now,” the teacher says, flipping around so he has Jinki pressed against the door. Jinki whimpers when he feels the cold glass against the back of his shirt, eyes lustful and dilated when they meet Minho’s. “Where were we?”

~~

“Where did Minho-hyung go?”

The sudden voice breaks into Jonghyun’s thoughts. The professor, who was staring blankly at his lap while seated on the couch, looks up, puppy eyes widening with shock upon witnessing the student exiting the bathroom.

“You’re here!” Jonghyun breathes, a small smile blooming on his face. His tense shoulders relax, head falling back to rest on the couch.

Kibum purses his lips, eyes challenging. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Jonghyun leaves the question unanswered, and instead gets up from the couch in order to walk to Kibum and wrap his arms around the younger man.

The student tenses, shocked and unsure what to do. He was supposed to give up on his professor, or at least, just until he graduated into two months, and being this close was not helping.

He thought distance was what Jonghyun wanted, so why was he doing this?

“Professor?” Kibum questions, voice hesitant and muted out of distress.

The professor ignores the question again, instead enjoying the feel of the slighter man in his arms and the way their bodies fit together so perfectly. Jonghyun decides that he likes holding Kibum close and inhaling the sweet scent of his skin, so they stay like that for a long time—seconds, minutes, could be hours.

Kibum’s heart races loudly in his chest, and he is so sure that Jonghyun can hear it that he breaks out into cold sweat. His brain is in chaos and he has no idea what to do, where to put his hands, what to say….

Oh god— _what should he say_?

“I love you,” the younger man finally blurts, as if he would never have another chance to say it again, but Kibum feels faint the second the words are out of his mouth. He himself did not understand why he just confessed, but having it out there was nerve-wracking and relaxing at the same time—an odd combination.

Jonghyun stills for just a second before pulling away slightly.

“Do you?” he asks, interested, puppy eyes studying the student’s face.

The apples of Kibum’s cheeks are red with embarrassment, and there is spark of hope bubbling in chest as he nods.

“Yeah, I do.”

“I’m so sorry,” the professor sighs forlornly, breaking eye contact in favor of hugging the student again, this time tighter. Kibum feels his heart stop in his chest, suddenly feeling so cold despite Jonghyun’s embrace. “You know that I can’t be with you.”

Kibum knew, he always knew, but the younger man’s eyes well with tears anyway, his voice shaking as he says, “Yeah. You love Minho-hyung.”

Chuckling quietly, Jonghyun replies, “I do, but that’s not why.”

The student is speechless, curious, but at the same time no longer wanted to be alone with his professor—instead he wanted to leave, going far away and never come back.

Kibum was mad about confessing, mad that he felt any hope when Jonghyun hugged him, mad that he could not just hold it in just a little longer.

“I… I, uh…” Kibum stammers, pulling away from Jonghyun’s arms and taking a few steps around the elder man. “This is embarrassing, so… I’m just going to go now.”

He takes another few steps, and now his back facing Jonghyun. He can feel the urge to run away in his legs and the feeling is burning him, filling his soul with every tear that rolls down his cheeks, but something is holding him back.

It takes Kibum a few seconds to realize it is the professor, the older man gripping Kibum’s wrist firmly.

“Two months.” Jonghyun suddenly whispers, so softly the student nearly missed it, but there is a potential in them that the younger man immediately senses.

Kibum turns around slowly, watery eyes wide when they make contact with the shorter man’s, whose eyes are wet too, and there is small smile playing on his lips, the same lips that press chastely against Kibum’s for a few brief seconds.

 “I’ll only wait for that long, so don’t forget to bring your diploma.”

Jonghyun’s smirk heals Kibum’s cracked heart instantly.

“You know I will, Professor Kim.”


	7. Epilogue: A SHINee Ending

~~

**_Flashback_ **

~~

Taemin hates the sounds that came from outside his room. He tries to cover his head with the pillow, plugging his fingers into his ears and hiding under the blanket—anything to make it go  _away_.

Of course, he still heard it anyway;  _that_   _man_  was yelling so loudly, so who would not?

He also hated the way his father said nothing back, probably crying and biting his lip out of habit, fists clenched as he just  _took it_.

“I hate him.” Taemin announces crossly the next morning, not even looking at his father.

Jinki flinches, shooting a worried glance towards his bedroom where his boyfriend lay passed out on the mattress behind the closed door. No sounds came from the room so he assumed all was well.

“Taeminnie, because of him you have eggs for breakfast almost every day. You should be grateful.” Jinki says in response, although the authority in his voice was lost behind the overwhelming sadness. This was not the first time his son was vocal about his feelings towards his boyfriend.

“I don’t even like eggs,” the boy lies with a sniff, pressing his lips together—also out of habit, one he picked up from his father.

Jinki sat across from his son, attempting to console him with a smile, one that was large but phony. The boy did not look up from the cooling eggs and hardened toast, which immediately made Jinki’s fake smile deflate.

Usually Taemin would cave and return the gesture with a small grin, because nothing was better than seeing his father’s smile change from fake to real, but not today. The bruises on Jinki’s neck and arms were hard not to look at—Taemin wanted to throw up knowing that there were worse ones under the veiling clothes—, although he had done his best to hide them from his son.

_You should have just left me at an orphanage._

The words lodge in Taemin’s throat, only because he did not really mean them. He hated being anywhere other than with his father—he loved him so much, and his eyes watered just thinking about how much of a burden he was anyway.

That was why he studied hard so he could get into a good high school, and eventually hoped to land an impressive job where he would make tons of money and buy his father a house, a car, new clothes, great food—everything his heart desired.

However, before all that, he would kick his father’s dumbass boyfriend to the curb, maybe even send him to jail for domestic violence, if he could.

“I’ll walk you to school,” Jinki said after Taemin finished eating. His son did not protest—he would rather have his father where he could see him than alone with  _that man_. Taemin knew why his dad was still with him— he put food on their table and even helped pay Taemin’s school fees—and he hated himself even more.

Father and son clasped hands, air frigid as they stepped outside. They walked about twenty minutes towards Taemin’s middle school, students already pouring in. Taemin was the only one with his father, the only one holding hands like a child, but he could not care less—he  _was_  a child, so why should anyone care? He never wanted to let go of his father’s cold fingers, ones that trembled a little around his, but their grip was strong and reassuring nevertheless.

Jinki planted a kiss on his son’s forehead, smile weak but slightly more real. The scarf around his neck wrapped twice and hid the bruises, so Taemin was able to look up and return the smile—after all, it was the only thing that kept his father going.

Taemin lost count on how many of his mornings played out just like this, and for once, with a sudden surge of nerve, Taemin wanted to change everything: he wanted  _that man_  gone.

“Break up with him, please.” Taemin unexpectedly begs in a voice barely above a whisper. The strong wind nearly blew the words away, but Jinki’s wide eyes revealed he had heard them.

It was the first time Taemin had ever said something like this.

“I hate him. How he treats you… I hate that even more,” he continues, round eyes watery, “break up with him.”

His father looks lost, but then Taemin mouths the words  _please_ , sincere and pleading.

Jinki’s eyes soften and he nods.

“Alright,”

When Taemin comes home later that day, he finds all the man’s belongings gone, only Jinki sitting on the floor and leaning against the couch. He has a fresh bruise on his cheek and a split lip—one that was poorly taken care of—, but he was grinning, this time genuine.

At the sight of his son, Jinki jumps up rushes over to him, crushing Taemin in a snug embrace.

Taemin’s heart tears between crying and laughing, so he returns the hold tightly and does both.

_He’s gone. He’s finally gone._

Two years of hiding under the blankets and covering his ears, two years of pretending nothing was wrong and putting up with it, two years of hearing his father cry out in pain from the living room or the bedroom and all Taemin had to do to stop it was say was the truth.

While sleeping together with his father for the first time in a long time, Taemin vows to be honest when he knows he should be.

~~

“Do your parents know about this decision?” his teacher asks.

Taemin has no idea what to say. He partly knew this idea would never work anyway, but he had to try it.

“No,” he whispers a reply, hating his shaky voice. Taemin hides the distress displayed on his face by staring at the dirty tile floor.

“Then,” Minho continues, “you have to talk to them fi—”

Desperation and fear surge through Taemin’s so suddenly that he startles himself, and cannot help himself as the words escape past his lips. “How can I tell him?” In the back of his mind, he notes that he is almost yelling, and ignores the way his voice cracks, how the tears sting his eyes.

“He works so hard every day trying to run the shop and pay for his apartment and my apartment, and then he even pays for all the bills  _and_  my school fees…. My father hasn’t just collapsed once from exhaustion—it’s happened  _three_  times already. I just can’t watch him like this anymore. I have to do something about it. How can I turn a blind eye and attend school when  _my father is suffering so much_?”

Taemin is thinking about  _that man_  again and understands completely why Jinki stayed with him, why he had a string of well-to-do boyfriends who treated him like a callboy, why he would fake smile every day and put up with their shit because they took care of their small family.

Two years ago  _that man_  nearly stole all the happiness from Jinki’s smile, and Taemin successfully intervened—and although now when his father smiled it was genuine, they became rare because he was always so, so tired, and Taemin felt even more guilty for every second his dad spent at his three jobs or the hospital.

Abruptly, albeit a little too late, Taemin realizes that he has said too much, and he wipes at a stray tear in a weak attempt to pull himself together—it really is not working, but he pretends anyway and says nothing more, thankful that his teacher does not either.

“Taemin-ah,” Minho suddenly speaks. His voice composed and full of authentic concern that Taemin takes a moment to appreciate. It reminds him of his father, his tenderness, his warm smile, and loving eyes.

The earnestness of his teacher’s touch when he grips the student’s arm makes Taemin feel safe for the first time in a long time, and he allows himself to be weak, a few tears escaping, sniffling as he pursed his lips.

“Do you think your father is working so hard just to watch you drop out of school?” Minho inquires, and Taemin nearly recoils because the remark hit him like a slap to the face.

“No…” he replies quietly, head shaking side to side.

“Then why exactly do think he works so hard so you don’t have to?”

It strikes Taemin like lightening.

Oh.  _Oh_.

“Your father works so hard because he doesn’t want you to suffer. He wants you to finish school, go to college, and then make something of yourself.”

Taemin does not look his teacher in the eye because he cannot; he suddenly feels embarrassed and adolescent.

“Do you think if you drop out now for whatever job you have, you will work at that same place forever—that they will pay for your living costs as time passes and you get older? You can’t just make such a permanent decision for such a temporary relief. And how can you even fathom paying your father back if you’re jobless and penniless and out of school?”

Minho is the voice of reason, making Taemin feel stupid, and the student covers his tear-streaked face in his hands.

Of course— _how could he have forgotten?_ He had dreams about becoming wealthy and spending all the money on his father, just to see him smile all the time, never faking one again.

Taemin is all out crying, but he understands now; he understands so well.

“I’ll work harder Mr. Choi.” Taemin vows and Minho nods his approval. Taemin would not have noticed if not for the gaps between his fingers, but the gesture gets a tiny smile out of him.

He decides that he likes Minho right then. Likes his easy smile, his expressive eyes, the way they pull Taemin back into reality, and the student appreciates it even more.

Taemin especially likes it when the teacher promises not to tell his father about his job.

_He’s really nice._

~~

Taemin stood in front of the locked door of the flower shop; at that very moment, he was probably the most shocked he had ever been in his entire life.

For as long as his father owned this shop, never had he failed to open in the morning—no matter if he was sick, no matter if he was covered in bruises, no matter if had broken bones, because damn it all, Jinki was as stubborn as a rock when it came to this shop. He had grown attached to it, whether it got any business or not, and if he could not open it himself, he would ask either Taemin or Kibum to open instead.

Therefore, the first thing Taemin did when he unlocked the door and windows, rolled up the blinds, and put on his work apron, he called Kibum.

“Key-hyung,” the younger boy spoke quickly into the phone, no greetings necessary when his tone was so uneasy. “Can you hear me?”

“Tae? Yeah, I can hear you—what’s wrong?” Kibum replied, voice thick with sleep.

“Did my dad tell you to open shop this morning?”

Silence on the other line. A hesitant “No,” was the response. “Why?”

Taemin pressed his lips together, a distinct sense of dread bubbling in his stomach as his mind played out scenarios, most of them bad and involving calling the police.

That was when Taemin realized his father went to a parent teacher conference last night. He remembers Mr. Choi, his kind eyes and exasperated expression when Taemin begged him not say anything about his job.

When he checked the apartment upstairs and came back down with nothing, the student assumed that his father never made it home last night… but if his dad truly never made it home, it could mean only one thing: that he was still with Minho.

Taemin knew his father was a knockout, and in fact, the more Taemin thought about it, the more he seemed to grasp, who in their right mind would _not_ want his father? Did that even make  _sense_?

All the worry that churned in his stomach eased immediately, making him remember that Kibum was still on the other line.

“Hello? Taem? Are you there?” Kibum sounded concerned, no hint of the previous fatigue left in his voice.

“Yeah I'm still here, hyung—sorry about that,” Taemin finally responds, a bright smile stretching across his face despite his previous scare.

“What happened? Is everything okay?”

“Yep, I just got worried for no reason.”

Kibum sighs dramatically, but Taemin can hear the relived laughter masked behind it. “God Taem, don’t scare me like that!”

“Sorry,” the younger boy repeats, more sincerely this time. They hang up and Taemin finishes setting up the shop—he never realized how exhausting it can be and promises himself that he will come earlier from now on to help his dad in the morning.

Tying up his hair and lying down on the bench with a book in hand, Taemin relaxes when suddenly the bells above the door jingle and signal that someone came in. The student looks away from the novel and focuses on the person at the doorway and jumps up immediately when he recognizes who it is.

_Dad!_

“Taeminnie!” his father’s voice rang out inside the shop, no hint of sadness or anger—just a genuine, face-splitting grin stretched from ear to ear.

They hug ceremoniously, as they had not seen each other in five days.

“Dad, where were you? I came early this morning to help you open shop, but you weren’t home.” Taemin finally asks, pretending to be casual when actually he was studying his dad very carefully.

When his father turned around in a feeble attempt to conceal his blushing face, Taemin had to stifle a startled gasp—a hickey rested on the side of Jinki’s neck, there was no doubt about it. The only person Taemin had ever seen sport a hickey before was his dad, when he was in those abusive relationships, and they use to trail all over his body looking nasty and painful.

These, however, were different. There were two—from what was visible anyway—of them to be exact, both bright pink and slowly purpling in shade, obviously recent, one at the base of his neck and the other just beneath the earlobe.

Tearing his eyes away from the hickeys, Taemin focused his gaze on the visible side of Jinki’s face. Judging from how his father was reddening oh-so endearingly, he obviously had an  _interesting_  night.

He looked… cheerful.

That made Taemin content, and just for that he forgave Jinki’s obvious lie by pretending to believe them immediately. Plus, he would not know how to confront his dad about sex anyway, because while Taemin was more than okay talking about it, his father died a little on the inside at the slightest  _mentions_  of the birds and the bees with his son.

“I was at Sooyeon’s place. I overslept since no one wakes up this early on the weekend.” Jinki fumbled with the primroses as he said this, obviously self-conscious about being caught.

Taemin asked an easy question, nothing too complicated. He did not want to corner his father. “Ah, Jessica-noona’s house? Was Key there?”

“Kibummie was still sleeping, I think. Not sure.” Jinki’s face was red as an apple, and his voice was unconfident. Any other day, had Taemin not understood what happened, he would have machine-gunned his dad for answers—that was not the case today, and he thanked his lucky stars when an elderly woman came in.

“Go upstairs and change dad. I’ll tend to the customer.”

He could not suppress the grin on his face the entire time, which flustered the customer, who in turn showered him with compliments.

 _If there was anyone I would want to be with my dad,_ Taemin thinks to himself as rings up the woman at the cash register,  _it would probably be Mr. Choi.  He’s kind, tall, and cool. I’m gonna be just like him, a manly man that get’s all the hot girls._

~~

Taemin was ecstatic when Kibum calls later to tell him that Minho dropped by the shop. Even though the older student refused to reveal the details of Jinki and Minho’s night to Taemin, the younger boy decides that something  _had_  happened between the two men, just as he suspected.

His intuition was never wrong—Taemin had this sort of connection with his dad like no other.

As happy as he was, he was horrified ten-times more when he finds out that his dad refused Minho’s gesture to go out, and suddenly there is doubt in his young mind:

 _Aren’t you supposed to go out with people who like you back? Or the people you sleep with?_  he naïvely wonders.

The entire week, whether he was at work bussing tables or in class not paying attention to lectures, Taemin wonders what had actually happened between Minho and Jinki.

He calls his father more than a few times, hearing his dejected tone, practically feeling the melancholy rolling off Jinki in waves from his cell phone.

Mr. Choi is not much better, because he just looked  _un-cool_  all week, which dissatisfies Taemin greatly—after all, his teacher was a manly man who got all the girls, right? So why had his father rejected him, especially since he was a much better catch than any girl was?

The last straw was when Jinki called in the morning to make sure his son awoke, but in his lethargic stupor accidentally calls Taemin ‘Minho.’

“Who’s Minho?” Taemin asks immediately, although he vaguely remembers from an introduction months ago that it was Mr. Choi’s first name.

He can feel his father blush from the other line.

“N-no one.”

Before his son could ask anything else, he reminds him to eat a proper breakfast and bids him goodbye, hanging up immediately.

However, Taemin is not dense—he has an idea of what was going on: his father was holding back, likely for his son’s sake, and Minho was the casualty of this effort.

 _Fine_ , Taemin thinks with determination,  _if dad isn’t going to do anything, Mr. Choi will have to_.

His father does not return home that night, and in the morning Taemin is jumping with joy at the sight of Minho helping Jinki into the store.

Taemin mentally congratulates himself, as he is partially responsible for their relationship, and reaps the reward of watching his father visibly transform into a much happier person.

 _I’ve done good_.

 

And the rest is history.

 

~~

**_Flash Forward_ **

~~

Three years later and the third biggest crisis of Minho’s life occurs—just behind falling hopelessly in love with Jinki and sustaining the injury to his wrist—when the principal of the school hears rumors about Minho’s relationship with Taemin’s father.

He voluntarily quits before things can get too complicated, and is now jobless. Before Jinki can have a full-blown panic attack while Minho searches for a temporary job, Minho’s father calls and offers him a position at his food company.

It does not take long for Minho to rise in ranks and reach VP status, which pays a shitload of money that gets rid of Taemin’s school fees and buys Jinki a delivery truck, significantly improving business at the flower shop.

Taemin is the only one at graduation who has two fathers waiting for him. They are holding a bouquet of roses and wearing proud faces

It is also the first time Taemin calls Minho ‘dad,’ effectively making the former teacher cry.

 

Kibum and Jonghyun fight more often than not, but two are happy together. Kibum works as assistant designer at SM Designs and Jonghyun continues to teach aspiring singers.

The peace does not last long when Kibum lands a huge promotion, which included starting his own fashion line, but in order to do so, he needs to travel to Paris for a few years.

Kibum and Jonghyun almost break up, but the older man decides that his love for Kibum is more important than his love for teaching. On the day he was going to deliver his resignation letter, Kibum comes over to inform him that he refused the promotion.

“I’m still young. If I’m really  _that_  good, I’ll get another offer eventually. You, on the other hand, are old and can’t afford to lose your job,” the feline man explains with a smirk, both effectively making Jonghyun fall in love all over again and feel like he was slapped on the face at the same time.

However, after that, their fighting decreases significantly and they eventually adopt a baby girl together because Kibum loves children and Jonghyun loves spoiling her.

 

Taemin finally becomes a lawyer, and once the cash came rolling in, he buys Jinki a new car—all these years he would not let Minho do it, and the elder man complied reluctantly—and sends his parents on a honeymoon to Hawaii.

He never does find his father’s ex-boyfriend, that bastard before Minho, but he decides that Jinki is happy, and honestly, that is all that ever mattered to him.

 

END.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I'm... done. ;w; omg wut
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and putting up with my slow updates!  
> Please comment, if you can.
> 
> I'm in shock right now so I don't know what to say lol.


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